


In Sanguinem Nostrum

by SierraBravo



Category: Fright Night (2011), Twilight (Movies), Underworld (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Everyone is Bisexual, Fluff, M/M, Slow Burn, Smut, Suicidal Ideation, Trans Male Character, a sort of second layer of slowburn which is the happy love triangle, actually the angst has turned out rather aggressive, aro related inaccuracies, light body horror, probable historical inaccuracies, soft angst, some liberties like to be taken with all the canons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 10:35:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 68
Words: 146,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24848389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SierraBravo/pseuds/SierraBravo
Summary: The first time Lucian and Aro meet,  it is centuries before the human Peter will be born, and across across the ocean in what will later become known as Romania, just on the border between Wallachia and Transylvania.
Relationships: Aro (Twilight)/Lucian (Underworld), Aro (Twilight)/Lucian (Underworld)/Peter Vincent, Lucian (Underworld)/Peter Vincent
Comments: 865
Kudos: 196





	1. 1248: Prologue

The first time Lucian and Aro meet, it is centuries before the human Peter will be born, and across across the ocean in what will later become known as Romania, just on the border between Wallachia and Transylvania. More specifically it's in 1248, in the great hall of Castle Corvinus, although meet is perhaps a generous term for it. Aro brushes past where the lycan servants are gathered on his way up to the dais, where he greets Viktor warmly, though with little respect. Lucian doesn't take much notice of him, other than to note their superficial similarities in looks. For a time the vampire he is in his dreams looks like Aro. The one who doesn't have to transform into a filthy animal, who is worthy of respect, and who could perhaps one day deserve to speak to Sonja, the beautiful vampire princess. 

Aro doesn't notice Lucian at all. He is busy focusing on the deal he intends to make with Viktor and the other vampire elders. They aren't the ones benefiting from it, but that matters little. They are so very young still, all of them, and haven't learned to see their choices in perspective yet. But Aro is 2548, ancient by the standards of most, and he knows about planning for the future.

Viktor clearly knows that he is one to respect, and tries to ingratiate himself, and Aro smiles and chats happily with him, but behind red eyes and white smiles he is bored. The daughter, the vampire princess, keeps stealing glances at one of the werewolf servants, and once Aro catches her eye, just to let her know he has noticed. She starts guiltily, and by his count almost half an hour passes before she looks again. He winks at her, and she looks terrified. Aro decides he likes her. Her father, however? A boring and power hungry man, barely done being human, still suffering the limitations in thought and ambition of that species. It's been more than two and a half milennia since Aro was human. He barely remembers it any more.

He chats to the vampire queen for a while, partially because she at least seems to have a personality outside the boring desires of the recently turned, but also because it appears to bother Viktor. He asks about local politics, about their decision to feed on animals rather than humans. This is odd, of course, but not unheard of among his own. These vampires are weaker than his own kind, though, and perhaps that is why they still seem so involved with humans.

After the banquet in his honour, as they walk out of the hall, he notices one of the young werewolf servants staring forlornly after the vampire princess. So it's mutual. That's... fun. That's potential.

Aro gets up around noon, after a short rest, so he can have a better look at the castle. The sun doesn't harm him, and though he doesn't intend to fully reveal his strength to these vampires -it's always convenient to be underestimated-, he wants to take advantage of the absence of the other vampires to look around. Perhaps talk to one or two of the servants, get some dirt on Viktor. Just something fun he can hold over his head, should the necessity arrive.

The castle is, well. It's fine. Less nicely furnished than what he is used to, but that is to be expected. The stone is a bit rough, a bit unrefined, and, right now the dark hallways are empty. It seems many of the servants rest during the day as well. 

It takes almost ten minutes before he runs into anyone, but when he does, they are almost jogging, sharply turning a corner and then crashing into him as an armful of weaponry clatters to the ground. Aro doesn't fall, he is above that sort of thing, but the young man stumbles, falling to his knees, opening a cut in his arm as he tries to catch one of the falling knives. He lets out a low growl of irritation, and then gasps when he looks up to see who he ran into.

"My lord," he says, head bowed, and Aro can hear the fear in his voice, "my deepest apologies."

"It is no matter," Aro tells him, though he would not be this lenient with his own servants.

They, however, are human, and he is intrigued by these lupine brethren of the local vampires. He watches as the young werewolf picks up his weapons, seeing the cut on his arm almost entirely healed already. He wonders what the dripping blood there tastes like. He has had the blood of regular wolves in the past, and he did not enjoy it, but this, the mix of wolf and human, but perfectly blended? It's worth a test, he thinks, but the man wipes it away on his already soot covered and filthy clothing.

"Would you be able to answer some questions for me?" 

He sees fear flicker across the man's face, and notices that his features are not unlike Aro's own, though his long hair is a dark brown, not black, his eyes are a greenish brown, and his skin has a hint of a tan, as if some of his duties take place during the day. He is growing a scruffy beard which has yet to become flattering, but Aro sees some potential. A handsome young wolf, he thinks.

"Of course, my lord," the man tells him, voice guarded, but submissive.

"How long have you been a servant here?"

"All my life, my lord."

"Oh?"

"Lord Viktor found me as an infant, and was kind enough to give me a place in the castle."

"And you're a werewolf, yes?"

A pained look crosses his face, and Aro is curious.

"A lycan, my lord, yes."

"I am from a different strain of vampires, and I had not heard of your kind until recently."

"Of course, my lord."

There is again the slightly forced submission, and regret. Aro wants to touch him, to read his memories, but he really doesn't want the vampires here to know the full extent of his powers, and so he restrains himself. The gloves stay on.

"Will you enlighten me as to the difference?"

"Of course. The werewolves are our... predecessors. They, once bitten and transformed, are never able to return to their human forms, and do not keep much of their minds. We, lycans, only transform on the full moon, as well as when we wish to do so. I... Lord Viktor tells me I am the first."

"The first lycan? That's very impressive."

The man glows at the praise, though he tries hard to keep his face neutral. But Aro is old, Aro is ancient, he knows how to read faces.

"May I ask your name, young wolf?"

"Lucian, my lord."

"Lucian. How... luminous. And do you enjoy working for the vampires, Lucian?"

His eyes widen a fraction, and Aro can see he is trying to work out what kind of trap this is.

"It is an honour to serve them," he settles on.

"Oh," Aro says with a knowing smile, "I'm sure."

Lucian's eyes narrow a little, but he doesn't say anything. Well trained. He must be, Aro supposes, if he has been a servant all his life.

"Well, if you ever feel the need to explore your options, I would be interested in having a lycan working for me. I feel certain I could pay you more handsomely than Viktor does."

"Viktor does no-" Lucian begins to say, then pauses, as if trying to work out whether or not that is something he is allowed to say, "that is, it would be an honour, my lord, but I am bound to my lord and his castle."

Aro smiles again.

"So it is because of the vampire princess, then?"

A look of absolute terror passes quickly across Lucian's face, before settling into regular fear.

"My lord, I would not- I don't-"

"Do not worry, Lucian, I have no desire to tell Viktor of your secret admiration. She seems lovely, and I do not blame you. In fact, she seems to be quite interested in you as well."

"My lord, that is not possible," Lucian says quickly, eyes darting to either side, trying to work out if anyone is close enough to hear.

"Oh, young wolf, I am very old, I know what I saw. But worry not, both your secrets are safe with me. And I wish you luck with it. Now, could you tell me in what direction I might find the courtyard?"

His face goes through a rapidly shifting series of expressions. 

"Of course, my lord, but-"

"What is the matter?"

"It... it is day. The sun is out."

"Oh yes," Aro says cheerfully, "I know."

"I.. I am going that way myself, to the forge. I will show you the way."

So Aro lets Lucian lead him through a series of identical dark and slightly damp hallways, glad the cold doesn't affect him, because November in the Carpathian mountains is both damp and freezing. Much of the castle is built into the very mountain itself, which means that most of the rooms have no windows, and remain safe for the weaker vampires here.

Aro does not intend to reveal his resistance to the sun to the vampires' servants, not even this charming young lycan, but he does wish to see the surrounding area in daylight, and so he follows Lucian to a shaded terrace from which he can look down at the courtyard. He sees Lucian frown at him, and knows he must be seeing faint hints of what direct sunlight would do to his skin. A hint, perhaps, of luminescence. So he smiles at him, innocently, and thanks him for his help.

Lucian appears to be a blacksmith, because Aro spends a full twenty minutes watching his arms flex as he works on forging a sword. Occasionally the lycan will glance up towards him, and, when he catches Aro's eye, quickly focus back on what he's doing. He must feel nervous, Aro reasons. Well. He is not wrong to. Still, eventually he retreats back into the castle, looking for further secrets to uncover.


	2. 1413; A Meeting in the Mountains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1413\. November. Winter is rapidly approaching, and the Carpathian mountains get so very cold. The lycans have just been forced out of Castle Corvinus, and Lucian is getting desperate.

The second time they meet, it is in 1413. The lycans have just been thrown out from Castle Corvinus by the vampires, Lucian having made a deal with the vampire Kraven to save his people rather than stay and fight. His arm still aches where he cut Viktor's brand from his flesh with a silver knife. 

It is only a few weeks later, and the wolves have not found a place to settle, but have travelled through the mountains. Though they are tough, and able to sleep in their wolf forms, it is not ideal. There are three pups in the pack, now, and the travelling is rough on them. They can't yet take their wolf forms, and are so much more susceptible to the cold, though the adult wolves curl around them at night, keeping them warm with their fur.

Lucian doesn't know what to do, where to take them. He has been the leader of the pack for a decade now, but he doesn't feel as if he knows what he is doing yet. All he wants is to keep them safe, give them a home, to do for them what he could not do for his own family. For Sonja and their child. Ten years, and he still is not over their loss. He doesn’t think he ever will be. One or two of the women in the pack had approached him, but he had let them down as kindly as he could, citing his continued mourning.

It is getting closer to winter now, and they badly need somewhere to stay, the cold seeping into their fur or clothes, and Lucian is sitting on a rock and raking his fingers through his hair in frustration. He is a little off to the side, not wanting the pack to see their leader break down, not having any idea what to do. He knows they should move south, but crossing the mountains this late in the year is risky. This high up, they are risking early snow storms, and they're not equipped for that. Kraven might have let them off easy, but they still had to sneak out through the tunnels without the chance to grab supplies. Hunting their food is fine, but they have almost no other weapons than their fangs and claws, and their clothes are nowhere near sufficient to withstand the winter.

"Lucian?"

Lucian looks up to see Raze. The large lycan has seamlessly slid into the role of second in command, and Lucian doesn't know what he would have done without him.

"Yes?" Lucian asks, forcing a hint of a smile, as if he could fool him into thinking everything is fine.

"Our scouts have spotted a travelling party, heading east. They think they're vampires, but no one we know."

"Oh? Not a familiar scent?"

Raze shakes his head. Lucian takes a deep breath, then gets up.

"I will take a look and decide what to do. Did they look like they carried supplies?"

Raze nods.

"A fancy carriage, the kind for royalty, and another larger for cargo."

"Right," Lucian says, "Right. I will look and decide what to do, if we can take them. Vampire guards as well?"

"Some of them, but a few humans too."

Lucian nods, lays a hand on Raze's shoulder and thanks him. Then he gets the directions and start running. He doesn't transform, though that would let him move faster, just in case he needs to talk to them. He would rather do that while clothed.

-

Aro sits in his carriage, trying to read a book by the flickering candle affixed to the wall, but the road is bad, and he can't manage to focus. He is headed to one of the Wallachian coven's strongholds. They had been under Volturi rule for nine centuries now, but it was always wise to show up and remind them who was in charge. Remove a head or two, drink some valued servants.

It has been over a century since last he travelled through this stretch of the Carpathians, and it has not gotten better in the intervening years. He has managed, through poor planning, to once again travel here in November, and he hates this weather. He comes, after all, from a village outside Athens, and has settled in Central Italy, and winters do not agree with him.

Just as he is turning the page of this manuscript, having just gotten through the last paragraph with a struggle, the monk who wrote this apparently not having cared to make it legible, the carriage abruptly comes to a halt, and he hears yelling outside. Odd. They are in the middle of the forested hills, far from any settlements. It takes him a moment to understand what is being said, because he has not practised the local language since last he was here, but it is quite similar to Latin, and so he gets back into it rather quickly.

"Let me talk to your master," a voice demands outside, and well, if that's what they want.

Aro exits the carriage, pulling his long, fur lined cape around his shoulders. He sniffs the cool air. Some kind of werewolves. 

"Here I am," he announces, greeting the small group of bedraggled werewolves who have blocked their way.

One strides forward. It is not the largest or most intimidating of the group, which surprises him. In fact, there is something faintly familiar about the figure with the long messy dark hair who carries a sword at his hip.

"Lord Aro," he says, and this is surprising.

Although many know of him, he had not expected to find any here, especially not a werewolf. He squints at the man. He must have met him before, but he cannot recall when or where. 

"You have me at a disadvantage, my good wolf man," Aro says with a little smile.

This elicits some growls from the wolves behind the man, but with a movement of his hand he shuts them down. 

"We met once, long ago my lord. You won't remember. It was at Castle Corvinus, over a century ago."

Aro thinks for a full minute before it clicks. Yes, the young wolf who loved the vampire princess. What was his name? Aro doesn't remember. He also had not realised that these werewolves were immortal, because this man has not aged at all. At least not physically. His behaviour and manner, though, seems much more deliberate and hardened. They also seem to not be surrounded by vampires, which is certainly interesting.

"Ah, yes, I remember now young wolf. And why is it you have stopped my carriage tonight? Are you planning to rob me? I must warn you, I am a great deal stronger than your masters."

"Former masters," the wolf bites out, his voice nearly a growl.

"Oh, really? Well, congratulations are in order, then. Am I to take it the castle is fallen?"

At this the man looks uncomfortable.

"Might I speak to you in private?" He asks, and now his voice is softer, more of a question than a demand.

"Certainly," Aro replies, and gestures at the carriage.

"Keep an eye on the wolves, will you?" Aro tells his guards.

“They won’t do anything without my command,” Lucian assures him, but it is more a formality than anything else.

They sit down on either side of the carriage, and Aro can tell in the candle light that the young wolf is tired and desperate. Well, that certainly presents some opportunities.

“I did not want to ask in front of your people, but forgive me, I have forgotten your name.”

Aro tries to say this kindly, but kindness is not his strength. The wolf doesn’t seem to notice.

“Lucian,” Lucian reminds him.

“Oh, that is right, yes. Well, I am delighted to see you have overthrown your masters and broken lose from your shackles. I must confess, I am rather surprised I have not heard news of it.”

“I suspect Victor,” Lucian begins, pronouncing the name of his former master with utter disgust, and Aro can hardly blame him, “will not want word to get out of our victory over them some ten years ago. Unless he wishes to do so now. He thinks me and my pack dead, at present, and I would like it if he keeps this illusion.”

He takes a breath. The man looks exhausted, blood and mud covering his skin and clothes, his hair tangled and filthy. The beard has grown to be flattering, now, which is an improvement.

“I shall not be the one to inform him,” Aro promises.

“Can I offer you a goblet of blood? I am not sure whether your kind partakes, but it is all I have, and you look in need of refreshment.”

“That would be… That would be good, yes,” Lucian says.

Interesting. Perhaps it is something one grows to like if raised by vampires, or perhaps anything would have been welcome. Either way, he opens the small chest which holds a sealed flagon and two goblets, filling both and handing one to Lucian, who barely takes the time to thank him before draining it.

“I am sorry, my lord, for my lack of manners, but we have been travelling without supplies for weeks.”

“Yes, what has happened to you?”

Lucian sighs. His fingers trace the intricate patterns on the goblet. A few stray droplets of blood cling to his beard, and Aro can’t quite take his eyes off it. 

“A decade ago, we, the lycans, with the help of the werewolves took the castle, driving whatever vampires survived our attack out. We held it for ten years, but a few weeks ago the vampires returned, and rather than fight I… I chose to make a deal with the leader of the attackers. They got the castle and the glory of having killed me, and I got to escape with my pack unharmed.”

“Ah, well, as I said, good for you. It is an understandable choice to make in that situation,” Aro says, careful to keep his voice free of judgement.

“What, if I may ask, happened to spark your Spartacus-like rebellion?” he asks when Lucian fails to elaborate on his own.

Lucian’s face falls. He looks down at the goblet in his hands, twirling it, taking a moment before speaking.

“Viktor, he… He killed Sonja. His daughter. My wife. The mother of my unborn child. For loving something like me.”

“Oh,” says Aro.

Then,

“My condolences for your loss.”

At least they managed to get together, which Aro feels sure Viktor hated. He felt some satisfaction in that, because though the man was his ally, he was not one Aro personally liked. They sit in silence for some moments, both faintly hearing their respective people outside discuss what the two of them might be talking about.

“May I ask,” Aro says carefully, “what brings you here? Why did you stop me?”

Lucian looks up, eyes wide and helpless, and Aro feels an odd urge to help him. He is something like a desperate puppy, and Aro thinks he might just have loyal ally if he helps him out. Well, his looks do him no disservice either, if he is honest with himself, although perhaps that can wait for a later date. Lucian still seems broken up over his late wife, and Aro is in no hurry. He has all the time in the world. They both do, apparently.

“I.. You were kind. When I was a slave who mattered to no one, you took the time to talk to me, seemed to respect me. I am sure you had your reasons, but you were kind. And powerful. And you told me that… That if I ever changed my mind about working for Viktor, as if I had a choice, you told me that you would have a place for me.”

Aro has no memory of this either, but it does sound like something he might have said.

“Is that what you are asking of me?” Aro asks.

“No,” Lucian admits, “it is not.”

He looks down for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully.

“My pack is desperate and without a home, and I am here to ask you for help. In return I will serve you, if that is what you wish, but I will not promise you the service of any of my pack.”

He looks up at Aro pleadingly, and now greenish brown eyes have gone pale blue, spreading to cover his pupils. Between slightly parted lips Aro can see sharpened fangs. It doesn’t seem to be a threat display, and Aro wonders if it is simply an expression of strong emotion.

“Very well,” Aro says, and Lucian’s eyebrows rise, his face the picture of poorly guarded hope, “I will help you. The Volturi, the organisation which I head, owns a small stronghold not too far from here, three days walk at the most. I will give you the directions, and you have my permission to stay there unbothered for as long as you need. It is not staffed or supplied at the moment, but it is easily defended, and I am sure your pack will make do.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Lucian begins, but Aro cuts him off.

“I am not, however, interested in your service.”

“No?” Lucian asks, his face full of worry.

“No. I think you far too… interesting for something as simple as that.”

Lucian swallows, his hands moving in small fretful patterns.

“I think… I think you shall have to owe me a favour. I have not yet decided what I want from you, young wolf.”

“I am 206,” Lucian tells him, “hardly young any more.”

And what an absurd thing to get hung up on at this moment.

“Yes? Well, I have been on this Earth for nearly three millennia,” Aro says, with just a hint of a smirk, because despite his age he is feeling just a little childish, “so you are all young to me, Lucian.”

The young wolf’s eyes widen.

“But whatever our respective ages,” he continues as he watches Lucian do the mental mathematics to try to work out when Aro was born, “you will owe me a favour, which I shall be free to collect at my leisure.”

Lucian is visibly hesitant to agree, clearly having been burnt by relying on vampires before, but he doesn’t appear to have many options, and so Aro feels sure he will accept.

“Yes,” he says at last.

“Splendid,” Aro says, clapping his hands together.

“And just one more thing, hmm? Nothing much.”

“Yes?” Lucian asks.

“Take my hand,” Aro asks, removing soft calf-skin gloves.

Lucian frowns, but lets Aro take his hand in both of his own.

The memories wash over him, Lucian’s experiences growing up a slave, his growing resentment for the vampires, the way they mistreated him and his fellow lycans. Aro saw Sonja through Lucian’s eyes, beautiful and unattainable for so long, and then, suddenly, inexplicably, his. He saw their secret meetings in deep dungeons and on top of towers, and he saw them promise themselves to each other in secret. He saw too, the way she was ripped from him, burned to ashes as he had to watch, chained like an animal, desperate and hurting. The hurt and rage building up in him, the way it burned and ached and stabbed flashed before Aro’s eyes. To his amusement he saw also the way Lucian had fantasised about being a vampire, and how much that imaginary vampire looked like Aro himself. Cute.

When he let go of Lucian’s hand the wolf gasped. He looked at Aro without understanding as the vampire pulled his gloves back on. 

“What- What was that, what did you do?”

“Think of it as the first instalment of your repayment,” Aro told him, and winked.

“But-”

“As I told you, Lucian, I am a great deal more powerful than your former masters. Now, here,” he said, taking a small, golden signet ring and removing it from the chain on which it hung around his neck, “take this, and if any vampires should question your right to stay in the stronghold, you show them this and tell them you have Aro’s permission. Understood?”

“I- Yes, my lord. Thank you.”

“Good. And you may dispense with the my lords. I am not your lord. You are free now, yes? Enjoy it. Make anyone demanding to hold a title earn it.”

“Thank you, my- Thank you, Aro. I am eternally grateful.”

“Good,” Aro told him with a smile.

“Now, I ought to get going, as I hope to reach my destination before dawn. I’ll have one of my people give you the precise directions.”

Lucian apologised for keeping him, thanked him profusely again, and went out to tell his pack the good news. Aro bid him farewell, and started back up the distinctly uncomfortable ride. He was going to have to think of something truly delightful to demand in return. Giving up that stronghold for a while was no cost to him or the Volturi, but Lucian did not know this, and to him it was no doubt a grand gesture. Excellent. 

Aro leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and began to more leisurely sort through the memories he had extracted from the young lycan. Perhaps this trip was not a waste after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aro is both very challenging and fun to write. He seems, based on my limited experience of the films and books in which he appear (gave up at the birth scene in breaking dawn of the books, and never got further than the second film), to have this delightful combination of careless callousness and cheerfulness, combined with the fact that he knows himself to be near invulnerable, that there are no consequences that really matter to his actions. That other people are essentially his playthings, despite the fact that he can, at will, see their entire lives in the blink of an eye with the slightest touch. It's fascinating to write, and I'm having a lovely time doing so, so expect more.


	3. 1456: A Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aro just wants to have a good time and I for one support this goal

The year is 1456, and Vlad III has just become voivode of Wallachia for the second time, and has spent some considerable effort impaling people who do not agree with him. It is a turbulent period of history for humans in the region, but the lycans have had a peaceful few decades. They remain in the old Volturi stronghold, and their pack has grown a little. They are careful about converting humans, as Lucian has decreed they must be, but several pups have now reached adulthood, and more still roam around in the forests surrounding the small keep, happy, not having known the horrors from which they escaped. Lucian has at last begun to relax, and though he still wishes revenge of the most brutal and violent kind on Viktor, he has come to the conclusion that keeping his pack safe and happy is the most important thing. They are growing stronger every day. The time for revenge will come.

Lucian stands looking down at the small open courtyard, watching the pups play. One of them has just learnt how to take her wolf form, and is transformed, chasing the others around, happy growls mingling with laughter. A hunting party has just left, and the afternoon sun is warm, and he feels safe from vampires. It is a dangerous feeling, he knows. Most of them think him dead, but Kraven knows the truth, and might if pressed reveal this to Viktor or one of the other elders. He would reveal his own cowardice too, this is true, but there might come a time when that is still the better choice for him. Lucian resents the need for his help, but there isn't much to be done about it. He has considered murdering the vampire, but he is protected by his coven, and likely this would raise more questions, and not be worth it.

Lucian turns, walking back into the stone hallway, and heads to his quarters. He is trying to be a good leader, to be the equal of all his pack members, but he has given himself the luxury of his own room. Given the layout of the keep, some of the pack members sleep in larger dormitories, simply because there are not enough individual rooms. This is no great loss; for the first months of their stay they had all slept in one big room, all transformed, curled up around each other. It had made them all, himself included, feel safe. Few intruders, he thought, would come across a room with more than eighty transformed lycans and see an easy target. They had had guard duty too, of course, and still there were always lookouts posted. Though their guard may be lowered some after decades of peace and safety, they knew, all of them, better than to take any of it for granted. There were ready to defend themselves with tooth and claw.

Lucian's room is sparsely furnished, as he had quickly redistributed the whatever fancy and comfortable furniture other than the bed between all of them. But he enjoys being able to retreat and have some peace and solitude here when he needs it. The keep has a library, and he has spent some time over the last decades studying the tomes housed there, trying to learn more about these Volturi vampires. This has taken some time, as he has had to learn to read Greek and Latin and French in order to do so, which has proven a challenge when all he has is the books. Still, a few decades in the languages are mostly solid. Greek remains the biggest struggle, naturally, and some of it still baffles him, but he is getting there.

A great deal of what he has tried to impart on the members of his pack these years is that they are not in any way inferior to the vampires. If anything they are stronger, a weakness to silver being, after all, far less of a daily threat than one to the sun. They are not animals, they are more, they are better. They are not savages, and being raised in slavery is not their fault. This has taken some time. Still, Lucian longs to better himself in the way he was raised to believe was right. He wants to be sophisticated, like the vampires are, wants to be refined, wants to have knowledge of the world beyond this small area of Wallachian mountains. It is a difficult mindset to justify for himself, and sometimes he feels an odd shame for holding both of these contradictory views.

The room he has chosen for himself was evidently meant for whatever lord or commander held this castle, because it lies at the top, with a stunning view across the valley below, visible through thin slits of windows, with heavy inner shutters that protect from the sun. He keeps them open, though, as long as it isn't winter. It feels to cramped otherwise, too dark and dungeon-like. Too much like the cells in the depths of Castle Corvinus.

"Young Wolf," a voice says from the doorway, and Lucian drops the pot of ink he is holding. 

It breaks and splatters black over his boots and the floor. Aro raises his eyebrows.

"I- what- you," Lucian says intelligently. 

"Forgive me if I startled you, young wolf," Aro says, stepping gingerly over the puddle of ink and settling himself in a chair by the window.

He is mere inches from the beam of sun pouring through one of the windows. White skin that is almost translucent glows, milky red eyes regarding him with curiosity and amusement. His skin almost glitters, like dull white quartz in the sun. 

"I, ah, welcome, my lord," Lucian says, for lack of anything better.

"Sit down," Aro says, and though it is not an order in any way, Lucian senses he is expecting to be listened to.

There is no second chair, so Lucian sits at the edge of his bed. Aro keeps appearing so very close to the sun, and Lucian wonders if he is so old that it can no longer harm him. The vampire has sent no word since they last met some four decades previously, and Lucian worries whether he has come to tell them time is up, that they have to leave. If so, that will be fair. They have stayed far longer than Lucian had expected them to be able to, and perhaps it is time they move on, anyway.

Aro watches him, those red eyes appearing to see right through him, right into his very soul. If creatures such as them have souls. His hands, still gloved though the weather is warm, rest folded atop his knees. His clothes are exquisitely made, using the richest dyes and adorned wih jewels and gold. No silver, Lucian notes, and wonders whether this is a courtesy, or simply a refusal to wear anything but the most expensive of materials. Probably the latter, he thinks, because Aro's cape is lined with wolf fur, which might be some sort of incredibly unsubtle threat.

"It is a pleasure to see you, lord Aro," Lucian says, when it becomes clear the vampire does not intend to start, "it has been so long, I had given up on expecting to hear from you."

"Oh, yes, one gets busy running vampire society," Aro replies with a small smile.

"Of course," Lucian says quickly, "I meant no-"

"Oh stop the grovelling," Aro tells him impatiently, "I am not here to throw you and your people out. I was merely on my way to talk to the coven a few days ride from here, and thought I might see how you were doing."

"Very well," Lucian replies, swallowing a reflexive _my lord_ , "we have had no run ins with vampires, either your kind or ours, and only a few attacks by human settlements nearby. But the last one was fifteen years past, so I think they have accepted our presence here."

"Delighted to hear it. It is quite an isolated little spot, hence our relative abandonment of it. The place never did much for our control of the region, and I imagine it is far enough from Castle Corvinus that any accidental meetings are unlikely."

Lucian nods, not quite able to keep his eyes from flicking between the vampire and the sunlight so very close to him.

"You are curious about how little I fear the light of the sun?" Aro asks.

"I- yes. If the vampires I knew were that close to its light they would begin to burn, smoke rising from their flesh. But you- you seem not to be affected by it at all."

"That is not quite the case," Aro tells him, "Would you like to see what it does do to me?"

Lucian frowns.

"I have no desire to see you hurt, my lord, you have been nothing but generous to me and my-"

Aro rolls his eyes, and Lucian falters. He considers for a moment, then nods. The vampire would not have offered if it was something that would do him serious harm.

Aro smiles, then scoots his chair close to where the sun falls, an action so incongruous with the elegant and statuesque way he holds himself that Lucian almost laughs. It turns to a gasp, however, when the sun hits Aro's skin, and it lights up, sparkling like he is made from diamonds.

"Quite different, yes?" Aro asks, his smile just a little smug, though Lucian cannot fathom why.

He is nearly hypnotised with it, watching the light move with his face, the way it catches those red eyes that glint, yet remain dull by comparison. After another moment Aro moves back into the shade, but the sparkles stay in Lucian's vision for a moment, greenish purple ghosts of the reflections.

"It is... beautiful," Lucian tells him.

Aro looks pleased at the compliment.

"Thank you, sweet wolf. It is certainly more convenient than catching on fire."

"Is- is this what you meant when you said you were more powerful than my former masters?"

"Amongst other things."

"Like- like whatever you did to me? When you touched my hand and- and my mind went blank for a minute. What did you do?"

"Oh, I was merely getting to know you, young wolf," Aro tells him with an enigmatic smile.

Lucian frowns.

"Were you- were you seeing my thoughts?"

Aro raises his eyebrows in a thoughtful frown.

"Clever wolf. Something like that, yes."

Lucian is unsure how to feel about this. It is an invasion of privacy, yes, but not all that much worse than having the vampires watch his every move. And with everything Aro has granted him without yet demanding payment, Lucian can hardly complain.

So he asks Aro whether he learned anything interesting.

"Oh yes," Aro tells him, looking delighted, "there were so many fascinating memories in there. Quite the tasty morsel."

Lucian knows he will spend time later, when Aro has left, going over all his years of memories, trying to work out exactly what Aro might look so amused about, but for now he manages to deny the need to do so, to focus on the present.

"Might I ask," he begins instead, "whether you have decided how I might repay you for your kindness?"

"Oh, I am not quite sure yet," Aro says, "it is always good to hold a favour, just in case it becomes necessary."

This is worrying, of course, it is not what Lucian wants to hear.

"My offer remains the same," he tells him, "you are free to demand whatever you wish of me, but I will not offer my pack up to any army or servitude."

"Of course," Aro says, "I do recall. I have no wish to harm your people, Lucian. I understand the responsibility of a leader well enough. I admire your need and desire to protect them, I would not take that from you."

"I am grateful for that," Lucian tells him, head bowed.

"But for now, I would request just one small thing from you. Hardly anything at all, really. The smallest gesture."

The reassurances do nothing but worry Lucian further.

"Yes?" He says tentatively. 

Aro smiles at him, eyes bright and still holding echoes of that sparkling light.

"A kiss," he says.

"I- a what?"

Aro frowns.

"A kiss. I saw the, ah, puppies outside, I can only imagine they were brought into the world the traditional way, so I am forced to assume you are familiar with the concept."

He must, of course, also have seen Lucian's memories of sharing many such with Sonja, and Lucian knows he is making fun of him, but can't quite work out the hows or whys.

"I- err... yes."

Aro seems to find amusement in his bafflement.

"Is it because we are both men? Do you find this part to be objectionable? It was quite common in my day. They do call it Greek love, you know, and it is quite apt."

"I, ah."

"I am from Athens, originally," Aro explains.

Which, Lucian supposes, explains the wealth of Greek books in this library. It seems fitting for one so ancient.

"Ah," Lucian says dumbly.

"I do not object because of your sex, no, I do not, in fact, object at all, I am merely... puzzled, I suppose, by the nature of your requests."

"Were you expecting me to demand gold? I have more than enough of that. Servants too, and soldiers. I do not lack for anything, young wolf, and so I hope you will indulge me in this innocent request."

Lucian blinks. 

"I... of course, my lord. It would-"

He tries to figure out whether it would be his honour or his pleasure and what the implications of either choice might be, but suddenly a cool hand is on his cheek, and surprisingly soft lips are on his. 

Lucian closes his eyes and melts into the kiss. It is so long since he has been with anyone in any way even vaguely resembling something romantic, and it turns out he has missed this intimacy. Quite without his conscious interference one of his hands finds its way into Aro's hair, fingers tangling in dark hair. A cold tongue prods at his lips, and he opens them, licks into Aro's mouth and feeling the sharp points of fangs against his tongue. His own fangs slip out, his eyes changing colour, as was often the case when he and Sonja were together. He used to feel ashamed of it back then, but now the thought doesn't even cross his mind.

He thinks he could kiss Aro forever, but a few moments later the vampire pulls back, lips just a little reddened. He looks very pleased indeed. Lucian realises he has not felt the vampire prodding at his mind as he did the last time they touched. 

"Delightful," Aro announces, and then, without any further warning, he is walking out of the room, and Lucian is left there, feeling guilty, aroused and intrigued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written entirely on my mobil, please excuse any spelling errors, I am only physically capable of perceiving them after I hit publish for whatever reason  
> Also I'm making Aro have fangs because fuck smeyer having vampires without fangs is just stupid and unsexy.


	4. 2013: Peter Learns About Vampires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or at least about one very specific one

In 2013, in Las Vegas, Lucian lounges. He is resting on Peter's oversized sofa, watching the human pace as he gets increasingly agitated by the phone call he's on. It's something to do with his show, some changes being made that Peter is not at all happy with, but Lucian, much as he adores Peter, has not managed to understand what the issue is, despite Peter's multiple rants. The show business world is still strange and new to him, despite him and Peter having been together for over a year now.

"Well fuck you too," Peter yells into his phone, pressing the button to hang up as aggressively as he can, which is not an easy thing to do with a touch screen phone.

"Did they not listen?" Lucian asks, gesturing for Peter to join him.

His boyfriend does, laying down on the sofa with his head resting in Lucian's lap, phone carelessly sliding from his hand and dropping to the carpet below. 

"They did not," he says, and groans.

"Perhaps," Lucian suggests mildly, "you ought to let me eat them."

Peter tries to smack his arm, but misses.

"Much as I fucking want to right now, that's still a no, babe."

"I am sorry, my love, that they cannot see that you are right. What was it about again?"

And Peter laughs, and Lucian thinks he might do anything to hear that joyful sound. 

-

"What's this?" Peter asks a little while later, poking the ring adorning one of Lucian's fingers.

His hands are resting obediently on the table between them as Peter coats his fingernails in a black, foul smelling viscous substance. Lucian does not entirely understand the point of this, but Peter seems to be having fun, and so he sits there willingly enough.

"A ring," Lucian replies.

"I can see that, idiot. I meant, where's it from? It looks like that mark you showed me, with the V, your, uh, ex owner."

"It is very much not. No, this was given to me by, well, you won't like this. By a vampire lord. A, uh, different vampire lord."

Lucian resists the urge to take the ring off and look at it, but he has had strict instructions to keep his hands still while the nail polish dries. Peter's eyebrows rise.

"Why would a vampire lord give you a ring? Lucian, have you been married to more than one member of vampire royalty?"

"What? No!" Lucian says quickly.

Perhaps a little too quickly. Peter's eyes narrow.

"Why, then?"

"I... It was after my pack and I had escaped the vampire attack," he begins.

Peter knows much of his story, but not all, not yet. The more important parts, though, he has heard before.

"We were lost, without a home, wandering the freezing mountains, and this vampire was kind enough to let us stay in a keep he owned for, I don't remember exactly any more, but at least half a century."

Peter frowns.

"Just like that? Just random vamp showing up and handing over a castle? Seems weird."

Lucian smiles.

"Not just like that, no. I had met him long before that, when I was a slave. He was an ally of my masters at that point. But he was nice to me. And so, when we were desperate, and happened across him by accident, I asked him for help and he gave it to me."

"With a ring."

"Yes. His seal, for verifying our right to inhabit the keep. But no, the symbolism is not lost on me. It was then, though."

Peter lifts one of Lucian's hands up to the light, examining the level of sheen on the polish, and then, satisfied, begins to apply a second coat. He is silent for a moment, concentrating on not painting the skin.

"Were you... You know."

"Were we what?"

Peter makes an abstract sort of noise, which Lucian by now has learnt most likely means annoyance.

"Were you, uh, lovers?"

Lucian should, in retrospect, have expected this question. But he doesn't.

"I, ah, I think our meetings were too few and far apart for us to fall under that description," he says vaguely, though he knows this will not satisfy Peter.

"That's not a no," Peter observes.

"It isn't," Lucian agrees.

"So you really do have a thing for vampire nobility, huh?"

Lucian shrugs.

"For those two individual vampires who happened to also be nobility, yes. I hate far more vampire nobles than I have ever loved."

"So you loved him? Thought you said it was a casual fuck buddies thing?"

Lucian glares.

"Paraphrasing, Lucian, relax."

"You know, you can be quite crude sometimes, Peter."

"So I've been told," Peter replies, and looks utterly unbothered by the accusation.

He is a ridiculous human, and Lucian really does love him so very much.

"But yes," Lucian continues as Peter cleans up the edges of his nails with a cotton bud dipped in some other, similarly foul smelling liquid, "there was a sort of love, there, I believe. I truly think he does care for me. And I him."

"Still?" Peter asks, "continuously? Are you guys like, still meeting up and stuff?"

"Not for a little while," Lucian reassures him.

"I believe I last saw him in the late eighties."

"Which eighties?" asks Peter, who by now knows better than to assume.

"Oh the, the recent ones. Nineteen eighties."

"Huh," says Peter.

"Though I did hear recently that his coven sort of... dissolved. I do wonder whether everything is all right with him, but I must admit I never much cared for his fellow Volturi."

"Wait," says Peter, "hold the fuck up. Volturi? That's what the V stands for?"

"Yes? You're familiar?"

"Of fucking course I am," Peter exclaims, nearly dropping the bottle of nail polish he is in the process of closing.

"They're the most fucking well known vampire coven out there. And like, all of them were killed? I think? Or most of them. Something going down up North. Wait so. So you fucked one of the Volturi?"

"Well," says Lucian, "it was more of a mutual thing. Quite flexible."

"I- fuck. That's not the point, Lucian, but, uh, good to know I guess."

"I do believe he was the head of that organisation. At least at the time. You say they all died?"

"You fucked the head of the Volturi," Peter says, stunned, like he still can't quite believe it, "the most powerful vampire on the fucking planet."

"Yes," confirms Lucian, though he now worries this is no longer the case.

He loves Peter, and will continue to love him, and is not looking for an alternative, but it saddens him to think Aro might be dead. In darker moments, when he thinks about Peter's terribly short life span, he has had the thought, at the back of his mind, that at least Aro is eternal, invincible, and someone to whom he would be able to talk, who understands the pain of losing a mortal who refuses to accept your bite.

"God, that is fucking wild," Peter says.

"I suppose it is," Lucian agrees, and he is wondering if there is any way to track down information, to know for certain whether or not Aro lives.

They remain still for a while, both lost in their own thoughts. Lucian keeps thinking that he cannot truly be gone. A vampire that ancient, that powerful? If only from a historical perspective it is a tragedy, losing a life that long, all those memories, all that knowledge. And the vampire society, at least the one ruled and led by the Volturi, must be in chaos. And, well. One particular lycan finds himself more broken up than he would have expected, given how long it has been since last they met.

"Was he good?" Peter asks, breaking the silence.

"Whom, Aro? I think perhaps his morals would be less than palatable to a modern human. He did once threaten to kill Vlad III, who you may know as Vlad Dracula-"

"Lucian, I am a respected authority on vampires, I know who fucking Vlad fucking Tşepes is."

"I know, my love, I know. I'm sorry I keep underestimating you. It is not my intention, I assure you. As I was saying, he did threaten to kill Dracula, which seems like something you would like. Of course, Aro is a vampire, and Dracula was a human, so it is perhaps not exactly right, but the thought was there."

"I mean..." Peter says, "Historical Dracula was pretty bad, yeah? Murdered a lot of people?"

"Yes," Lucian agrees, "but so did almost every other leader back then."

"Hmm. Suppose you're right. What I meant though, was was he good in bed?"

-

"Do you think my nails are dry?" asks Lucian a little later, poking one with the result of the black polish immediately warping and moving.

"...No. Give it another hour."

Peter's voice is flat, but Lucian can sense the amusement hidden beneath.

"How do you do this on a regular basis?" Lucian demands.

Peter shrugs.

"I watch a lot of telly."

"And what do I do if I do not particularly enjoy television?"

Peter groans.

"You can't just say you don't like a whole entire medium of content, that doesn't make sense."

"You told me no less than two hours ago that you do not care for books," Lucian points out.

Peter makes a garbled, frustrated noise.

"Yeah, to make a point of how terribly written that specific one was."

"I am not sure," Lucian says carefully, "that I understand the distinction."

"You're lucky you're hot," Peter mutters.

-

Lucian's nails have finally dried, which is good, because they would not want nail polish to rub off inside Peter's, well, insides. Lucian is thrusting two fingers into him, kissing down his neck, letting his fangs scrape across the sensitive skin. Peter sinks his fingers into Lucian's hair, tangling there and pulling him closer.

"Fuck," he gasps, "Lucian-"

Lucian pauses.

"Yes?"

Peter groans in frustration, and Lucian grins, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Is there something I can help you with, my love?"

"If you don't fuck me now I am buying a silver strap on," Peter warns him.

Lucian wants to explain that this is not how his weakness to silver works, but it is not the time, and he gives Peter a soft kiss before moving back and settling between his legs. He kisses down Peter's chest, stopping briefly to scrape his fangs across his nipples. Kisses along the pale, smooth scars. Down across his stomach. Laps at his clit, his fingers digging into Peter's thighs.

"Lucian," Peter begs again, and he relents, giving the small bundle of nerves one last kiss before sitting up, positioning himself, and sinking slowly into Peter.

He will never tire of the feeling of it. 

"Ngh," Peter says, "yes, fuck, Lucian."

And Lucian has to admit that he agrees. He guides one of Peter's legs up around his waist, trying to work out a rhythm where he can both thrust into Peter in the most satisfying way possible, and also rub circles around his clit without overstimulating him. Peter's noises are particularly useful in helping him gauge his success. The rising tones, the frequency of moans, as well as the heart rate his lycan hearing can pick up beneath it all help him to work out how most perfectly to satisfy his lover.

It's important to him, making sure Peter is enjoying himself. Hopefully, of course, that is important to any sexual partner, but Lucian makes a point of prioritising it. Stimulating genitals until orgasm is reached is simple enough, mere mechanics, but making love, showing your partner how much you care? That takes effort, and patience. Of course, Peter being quite vocal about what he wants does help.

"Lucian," he cries, back arching up against him, hips bucking up, nails digging into expensive sheets.

"More, I need-" Peter demands, and then, seemingly without expecting it, comes, clenching hard around Lucian.

Only now does he allow himself to fully lose himself in sensation. They have talked about this. Peter has assured him repeatedly that it's okay to let himself come first, that he's supposed to be enjoying himself as much as Peter is, but Lucian has not quite been able to put this into action yet. Peter has speculated that it is because his first sex partner was a princess, someone so higher than him in the hierarchy, that he sort of accidentally got used to this dynamic, but Lucian isn't so sure.

He reaches his release suddenly, spilling into Peter with a noise that's less dignified than he would like. Still, Peter's face is soft with after glow and evident adoration. He tugs at Lucian, pulling him down into a soft, slow kiss. Lucian can taste himself on Peter's tongue from earlier. 

"Love you," he murmurs, resting his head on Peter's chest, just over his heart.

Lucian imagines it beating out the answer in morse code. He never did learn that, so perhaps it does.

"You too," comes the soft reply.

The light seems to have adjusted to their mood, warm and less piercingly bright, as if filtered through something soft. They lie there on Peter's bed, basking in it and each other. Peter drifts off, eventually, Lucian knows it from the calming of his heart, the slight twitching of his hand as he falls asleep. The way the chest beneath his faces rises more slowly and calmly. Perhaps, after a while, Lucian will join him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter of the day because I'm feeling productive. Well. Technically it's the next day but you know. It counts.  
> Also thanks to @wonderlandiscrumbling for patiently listening to me ramble ideas about this fic for like three days  
> I hope also that it is clear that Lucian being a dumbass is like 50% being old as balls and never getting into any social media or internet culture because why on earth would he, and the remaining 50% purposely winding Peter up because he thinks it's fun


	5. 1480: Flirting in Florence Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aro, in addition to wanting to have a good time, wants Lucian to have a good time also.

The first time Aro and Lucian are intimate together it is in 1480. Aro has sent word to Lucian that he would like for him to join him in Florence, just a little north-east of the Volturi’s headquarters. It has been five years since last they met, at Cetatea Poenari, in an ill-fated attempt by the Volturi to turn Vlad III, and a similarly ill-fated attempt by Lucian to assassinate him. As it was he was killed mere months later, so at least from Lucian’s point of view it was not much of a loss.

Lucian has no sense of why Aro wants him there, but given his ever increasing debt to the vampire, he leaves a few days after receiving the messenger. It is a long way to travel without being given any reason, and by the time he reaches the city he is frustrated. The issue with long travel for lycans is that animals really do not like them. Donkeys and horses are, fundamentally, prey animals, and can sense what lycans are, can identify them as apex predators even in human form. So while he is able to buy a donkey and cart and supplies in the first town he reaches, he gets only two days into his journey before the donkey manages to escape in the night, running away to, Lucian can only imagine, get eaten by less impressive predators.

The rest of the way, Lucian travels in his wolf form. This is tricky, as he has to fashion some way for him to be able to carry his belongings while transformed. There isn’t much, not really. Aro’s ring, which he tends to wear, even if bringing it to see the man himself has no particular use. His clothes. A knife. He had more, stored on the cart, but he has to leave it, relying on keeping himself sustained on what prey he can catch. He is sad to leave behind the wine he traded for some only very slightly mauled rabbits he caught (he blamed a not present hunting dog for the teeth marks), but it is necessities only. 

So when he reaches the city gates he is filthy and tired and his feet have been hurting for days. Aro has given him an address, and it takes him some time to find it. The language is different now, from the Latin he has taught himself from ancient texts, and he struggles to ask for directions. A few hours in, though, he manages to locate the correct small palace. It’s the only way he can think of to describe the place. It’s exactly the sort of surroundings he imagines fits Aro, decorated with worn marble statues, recently dug up, the last remnants of paint scraped off. 

Bringing the ring, it turns out, was a good idea after all, because the humans guarding the gate to the palace try at first to chase him away, assuming him to be a beggar or thief. When they see Aro’s seal, however, they are all apologies, one of them escorting him inside and bringing him a goblet of wine, presumably taking him for a fellow mortal. He appreciates it still. He came in daylight precisely to signal that he is not one of the vampires, and also because he was forced to spend five hours after arriving before dawn aimlessly wandering the city streets. 

It is strange, the first real sizeable city he has been in. Nothing in Wallachia compares. There are so many people, so many humans, all going about their days seemingly independent of each other. He is used to people, living at a large castle for so long, but that is something different. There they are all part of the same unit of people, all of their lives connected. Here there are too many people, too much going on.

It id too early, he is informed, for Lord Aro to be up yet, and knowing what Lucian now knows about him it’s an effort to keep from rolling his eyes. He is shown into a sort of sitting room to wait, and provided with more fruit and wine, so that, he supposes, is nice. There are books in the room, which he appreciates, and he finds one on the local history, and manages to spend the hours until late afternoon occupying himself thus.

“Lucian,” Aro says in greeting, having appeared silent and unseen a mere two feet from where Lucian sits.

His vampiric powers are really impressive, because even with his lycan senses he entirely surprises Lucian each time.

“Aro,” Lucian says, rising to meet him.

He looks well. Which is hardly surprising, he always looks exactly the same, that’s the nature of immortality. His skin has that faint glow daylight seems to give him, and he smiles at Lucian, warmly enough that most of his frustration melts away.

“A pleasure to see you again.”

“And you, my lord.”

It is a difficult habit to shake, and Aro has grown more tolerant of it, but he still gives Lucian a look.

“I trust my servants have taken care of you?”

“Well enough,” confirms Lucian.

Aro leads him through hallways filled with light and beautiful paintings and statues, vases of fresh flowers he has never seen before on pedestals, gilded details on old frescoes. It is so opulent it puts the vampires of his youth to shame, though it is much more influenced by the humans, he thinks. So much gold and light, so bright. These vampires do not fear the light of day, and it shows. Aro shows him at last into an ornately decorated study. The windows are covered by heavy drapes, letting not a hint of the sun in. Aro settles on a divan and gestures for Lucian to join him. It feels oddly intimate.

“May I ask why you have asked me here?” 

Aro tsks.

“All business and no pleasure, hmm? We shall have to do something about that. But yes, very well. I thought I ought to tell you this in person rather than simply send a messenger.”

“How kind of you, then, to make me walk for ten days,” Lucian replies, though there is little bite to his words.

“I thought wolves enjoyed walks?” Aro says, and that is, in fact, close to crossing the line, which he seems to realise, because he smiles placatingly, and offers Lucian a goblet of blood again, which he accepts.

It’s human blood. It always seems to be. Lucian chooses not to think about how, exactly, Aro always has it fresh and on hand. Some things it is better not to dwell on. The man is, after all, a vampire, and though he has been kind to Lucian he is undoubtedly also a fearsome predator. 

“But no. I regretfully have to tell you that we will soon be requiring the use of your home again. Not until this winter, I believe, but I felt I owed you some warning.”

“I see.” 

It is hard to keep the disappointment from his voice, and it clearly shows, because Aro lays a gloved hand over Lucian’s.

“I am- It is fine, of course, we will find alternative accommodations, and I remain so very grateful to you,” he adds, because he has no right to complain, they have stayed there for nearly seventy years now, and that is is so much longer than he had initially been expecting.

“Yes, yes,” Aro says, “I know. You will owe me forever, yes.”

“So you still have not decided on a repayment?”

Aro gives him a terribly unconvincing apologetic smile. 

“It eludes me still, I fear,” he tells him, and Lucian can’t help his amused smile. 

The vampire has held this over him for so long that he has gotten used to it now, expecting some sort of terrible demand in some unknown future. And every time they meet, Aro is nothing but lovely, and so it is hard to fear too much what he will eventually demand.

“But I was hoping to convince you to stay in Florence for a little while, permit me to show you its wonders.”

Lucian finds himself wondering again how much of his thoughts Aro knows. He has read Lucian’s mind once more since the first time, that Lucian knows of. Perhaps he can do it in other, less obvious ways too. Perhaps he simply thinks it a more efficient way of conveying information, rather than having to listen to Lucian tell him things. He has never asked Lucian whether it is okay, and Lucian has never felt neither the need nor the confidence to tell him it is not. What is his privacy compared to the safety of his pack?

“A rest before the long journey home would be most welcome,” Lucian replies.

“I can imagine,” says Aro, “and surely you will take some time to appreciate all the things these humans come up with? I have been fascinated with it for some time now. There is this terribly promising painter whose workshop I would like to show you. I’ve become something of a patron of his. Beautiful technique. Some form of glazing with oil paints which I’ve never seen done before.”

Lucian nods as if he understands what this means, but Aro’s smile is indulgent and understanding. He knows. He knows so very much, and it is equally unsettling and reassuring. Lucian knows he is understood, always, knows he is known, and that if Aro likes him it is because he knows all of him, as intimately as he does himself. It is a strange relationship to have with someone. Terribly unfair, really, with how little Lucian knows of him.

-

Over the next week Aro spoils Lucian. They spend long nights exploring the city together, when Aro doesn’t have official business to tend to. But this isn’t Volterra, and evidently this trip is something of a time of rest for him too. He takes him to see the young painter from Vinci, shows him architecture and culture he has never dreamed of. Music and food and wine and the ability to think only of himself and his own enjoyment for a time. It is nice, he thinks, it is lovely. He misses the castle a little, cannot help but worry about the pack he is leaving alone for a month, but he enjoys himself.

On the last night he intends to stay, Aro asks him to join him in his bedchamber when dawn grows near. He has had a lavish room of his own while he has been here, but this is nothing compared to Aro’s chambers. Everything is black and crimson and gold, so much gold. An ornately carved bed, the softest and most luxurious fabrics Lucian has seen and touched, and the space is vast. It seems entirely unnecessary to Lucian. It strikes him again how much Aro appears to have in common with the vampire nobility he so resents. Still, he fails to resent him for it. The servants seem to be treated well, though many seem under the impression that their lord is human. He has made sure, has tried to ask them. He wants, he supposes, to repay somehow the kindness and concern Aro showed him when he was young.

“Would you stay the night with me?” Aro offers, as somewhere far outside birds have begun to sing and the first light of day is appearing in the sky.

It is fairly clear what he means, and also what sort of an answer he is expecting. He looks at Lucian like he can see right through him, like those red eyes can pierce his skin and see right through to his heart.

“Yes,” Lucian replies.

It feels wrong. It feels like a betrayal, but Sonja has been dead for eighty years, and surely she would see that this aids him in protecting his people? That whatever he has to do for this vampire is justified because he was able to keep his people safe for the better part of a century? Surely, if he himself wants it, that does not make it so much worse? Aro looks at him like he understands the doubt in his heart. Lucian is unsure whether he truly cares, or merely has perfected the act of appearing to do so.

“You are permitted to enjoy yourself,” he tells Lucian, his voice uncharacteristically soft and gentle.

“If you say so.”

“You are a free man, Lucian. You may be in my debt, but your choices are your own. Your time is yours to do with as you wish. You are not betraying her memory by indulging, sweet wolf.”

“I know,” Lucian replies, “I do, but it is… difficult.”

A gloved hand turns his face towards Aro’s, another tucks hair behind his ear. Faded red eyes look into his. Aro does not ask before he kisses him, but he moves slow enough that Lucian has plenty of time to realise, to flinch away, to avoid it. He doesn’t. He leans into it, delighting in the feel of soft, cool lips against his. Lucian loses himself in the kiss, hands tugging at Aro, drawing him closer.

“Does that help sway your mind?” Aro inquires as they pull apart, very slightly, so Lucian can breathe.

“It does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to google maps Florence is only a twelve days or so walk from cetatea poenari, which, though it appears in the story, remains my proxy for Castle Corvinus, and, frankly, all the castles in the Wallachian Carpathians I mention. This seems very little but. Shrug emoji. Gotta believe them I guess. I cannot find exact details as to when Vlad III used Cetatea Poenari, but at least I am reasonably sure Da Vinci lived in Florence in 1480. I mean, I haven't looked deeper than wikipedia, but these are mostly context sentences in a story about some fictional dudes being romantic so like. Probably not a huge deal.  
> Also Florence is such a weird name for Firenze. English is a weird language.


	6. 1480: Flirting in Florence Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I mean you can probably guess what goes here.

Aro's skin has a strange texture. It doesn't seem porous in the way lycan or human or even regular vampire skin is. Instead it is like stroking a cool, dry stone, worn smooth by millennia. It has give, though, unlike stone, and Lucian's fingers press into ancient supple flesh.

Nobility, Lucian decides, wear far too many and complicated clothes. So, to be fair, does he currently. Aro has had him dress in fine clothes which he has provided, deciding his worn and patched travelling gear is not befitting the companion of such a high lord as he. Though they are made from the highest quality fabrics, Lucian finds them uncomfortable. Not only do they fit in ways he is unused to, but the bright colours make him feel like somewhat of a court jester. Aro assures him that it is the style of the day, but nevertheless he feels nothing but relief when Aro opens a wealth of tiny buttons, sliding the garment Lucian has already forgotten the name of from his shoulders.

Aro looks at him in appreciation as Lucian's clothes are shed, pooling in an inordinately expensive heap on the marble floor. Is is gratifying, being looked at like that, and Lucian basks in it. Lets Aro run fingers, gloveless now, down the planes of his chest, stopping just short of where Lucian wants them.

"Patience, my sweet wolf," Aro tells him with a smile.

It stings, just a little, to be called _his_ like that. Especially by a vampire lord. Lucian knows Aro does not mean to imply ownership of him, that it is merely an endearment, but he has been a slave far longer than he has been a free man, and it is hard not to read into it. He swallows the displeasure down, focusing instead of divesting Aro of his far too numerous items of clothing.

He dares to place kisses along Aro's collar bones as he slides his innermost shirt off his shoulders. It feels daring, feels like an imposition for which he will be flogged with silver, but Aro sighs and threads fingers through Lucian's tangled hair. Much like the first many times with Sonja, it feels like something forbidden, which makes it all the more thrilling.

Aro's chest, indeed almost all of his skin, is hairless, which is part of why it feels so strange, Lucian thinks, entirely smooth like the marble statues from antiquity Aro has shown him, worn down over millennia, though few are as old as him. It is a summer night, and even this deep in the palace the room is still fairly warm, and so Aro doesn’t feel so cold against him.

Aro lets Lucian lavish him with kisses and soft touches, starting at his throat, moving down. He takes Aro’s cock in his hand, and that feels right. It’s not so different from his own, though instead of reddened, the hard flesh is a cool greyish purple. It looks odd, certainly, but not unappealingly so. He moves his hand as he would if pleasuring himself, and that seems to work, drawing some lovely little moans from Aro.

Lucian is pushed, then, onto his back on the bed, into a nest cushions, Aro hovering over him. Lucian hesitates, unsure what to do, propped up on his elbows and looking up at Aro. His uncertainty must show, because Aro’s eyes soften.

“Is anything the matter?” he asks.

“No, I just- I haven’t, before, not with a man.”

He hasn’t with anyone, not since Sonja. There were others before her, but all female lycans. Aro knows this, of course, and though he hasn’t, to Lucian’s knowledge, read his mind while he has been here, and thus lacks knowledge of the last decade or so of Lucian’s life, he doesn’t think it comes as much of a surprise to the vampire.

“Of course,” Aro says softly, “that is no matter, I will show you the way.”

He wraps his fingers around Lucian’s cock, stroking slow and gentle. His cool hands feel perfect against overheated flesh, and Lucian looks into those lovely red eyes that look down searching, judging his reactions. He twists his fingers, just under the head, and a little gasp escapes Lucian’s throat.

“Good?” Aro asks, and Lucian nods frantically.

A soft laugh from Aro. Lucian understands it is meant well. The vampire presses a kiss to his sternum, and releases his cock. Lucian can feel precum beading at the tip. Aro runs a finger down the length of his shaft, past his balls, down to that little puckered ring of muscle. He looks at Lucian questioningly.

“Yes,” Lucian breathes.

Aro reaches over to a night stand, on which stands a small flask. It seems to contain some sort of oil, which he dribbles onto his fingers. He encourages Lucian to spread his legs properly, settling between them. Lucian feels a gentle prodding, cool finger made cooler still by the oil, and then something presses slowly into him. It feels odd. Not bad, not good, just strange. Aro presses his finger in to the knuckle, gently twisting it, prodding at his insides.

“How does it feel?” Aro asks.

And Lucian cannot be anything but honest with this man.

“Strange,” he admits.

“Worry not, it will feel better as we go,” Aro promises.

He twists his finger again, prodding against Lucian’s walls until he finds a spot that makes the lycan gasp softly. That’s different. That’s quite good. Aro smiles, satisfied. After a few moments he adds another finger. That stretches, that feels odd again, but Aro keeps massaging his fingers against that spot, and now his other hand has returned to Lucian’s cock, and so Lucian is prepared to be forgiving of that.

“Do you think you can take another?” Aro asks.

“I don’t know,” Lucian says, “yes.”

He does, after all, have magical healing, so what is the worst that can happen?

Aro presses a third finger into him, and that’s almost too much, and Lucian has to lie very still, breathing hard for a moment. Aro, feeling reconciliatory, leans down to lap at his cock, cool wet tongue so very distracting that by the time Lucian thinks about the fingers inside him again the stretch is starting to feel good. He is so very hard now, cock jutting out, dripping precum down onto his stomach.

“You look delicious,” Aro tells him, and is that an alarming phrase, yes, but Lucian feels exquisite now and doesn’t much care.

They go slow, so slow, and Lucian is sure the sun is up by now. He wonders if Aro can feel it. Lucian himself can feel the moon when it’s close enough to full, can feel it pulling at the beast inside of him, tugging it up toward the surface. Though for Aro he imagines it must, if anything, be the opposite. Draining.

“I think you are ready, sweet wolf, I think you can take me. Do you feel like you can do that for me?”

Aro’s voice is gentle, and though there is no trace of impatience, Lucian suspects it somewhere deep down. And he wants to make Aro happy, he finds, wants to bring the man pleasure. So he nods, pushing himself up enough so that he can watch as Aro drips more oil onto himself, guides the head to the right spot, and slowly, so slowly, sinks into him.

It burns a little, the stretch. Lucian hisses at the feeling, as his teeth push out into short fangs. Aro’s eyes flick up to his face at the sound, and looks at him with such fascination and desire that Lucian doesn’t even feel him push in the last little bit.

“The wolf in you is beautiful,” he tells him, a hand reaching up, tracing along his cheek, a finger slipping into Lucian’s mouth, pressing down on his bottom lip, pressing into sharpened teeth.

On instinct Lucian closes his mouth, sucking on the digit, and Aro looks both surprised and delighted. He doesn’t say anything, but pulls carefully almost all the way out of him, pushing back in with slightly more force. Lucian’s fangs dig into Aro’s finger, but do not break the skin.

Aro begins to move, to thrust slowly but with purpose, one hand loosely stroking Lucian’s cock. The lycan himself is almost to overwhelmed by the sensation to do anything feel. It’s very different, he thinks, to how sex with Sonja was. For many reasons, of course, but also just physically. But soon he notices that we wants it, that each time Aro pulls out he wants him to push back in, harder and faster, and so he begins to move too, shallow little thrusts of his hips upwards, and he lets Aro guide him.

“You are doing very well,” Aro praises, “for your first time. You feel simply delightful.”

Lucian fumbles for an additional pillow to prop himself up on, and then his hands are on Aro’s hips, encouraging him to speed up. He tries to move his hips so that Aro has more space to move, to sink deeper into him. The vampire brushes that one spot inside him again, and Lucian keens, pressing himself up against him more firmly, thrusting his cock into Aro’s hand with more fervour.

He comes faster than he expects to, not used to the twin sources of stimulation, how they interact, how much more intense it feels this way. He moans, his fingers digging into Aro’s skin. His release splatters across his torso, on Aro’s hand. The vampire follows him, reaching his own climax not long after, stilling inside Lucian. It is an incredibly strange feeling, the release of shockingly cold seed deep inside him. But Aro’s face looks blissful, and that is a lovely sight.

Aro pulls out of him, and then reaches for a cloth which he dips in a conveniently placed basin of water, wiping them clean. Lucian is still breathing hard, and leans up to capture the vampire’s lips in a kiss.

The guilt still nags at him, but he pushes it to the edges of his mind, something to be dealt with later. For now he resolves to enjoy this.

-

“I hope you will permit me to show you my native Athens one day,” Aro says, “much of what it was when i was young, when I was human, is in ruins now, but it remains a beautiful city.”

They are laying side by side on the bed now, a think blanket thrown loosely over them. Lucian turns to his side, a hand beneath his cheek, another trailing along Aro’s hip, following planes and gentle curves up towards his shoulder. Aro catches the hand in his own, pulling it up and planting a kiss on his knuckles.

“It sounds marvellous,” Lucian tells him, “I would love that. But only when I have found my pack a new home. When we are safe.”

“Of course,” Aro murmurs.

“They are lucky to have you,” he adds, “such a brave and responsible protector.”

Lucian shrugs off the praise, but it makes his heart feel like it is glowing.

-

They break their fast in the late afternoon. Aro drinks blood, as always, but he has his servants bring Lucian fruit and cheese and meats, some of which he never before has tasted. Aro watches him eat almost longingly.

Do you miss it? Food?

“Sometimes, yes,” Aro admits.

“Not so much the need for it,” he adds, “but I miss the variation. Blood is, after all blood. It is not so exciting in its flavour. I can no longer taste anything else. All other foods and drinks simply taste like licking parchment. Which is probably just as well, as my body cannot process it.”

“That does seem like a loss,” Lucian agrees, and takes a sip of the wine.

\- 

When Lucian leaves, Aro gives him a horse.

“To make your journey faster and less unpleasant,” he says, “she is used to the undead, she will carry you willingly enough.”

She is black, tall and fearsome, with a small, white star marking on her forehead.

“She will find her way back here when you release her,” Aro adds, saving Lucian the trouble of asking whether he will be able to keep the animal.

“What is her name?” Lucian asks.

It is always good, he thinks, to be properly introduced to one’s travelling companions.

“Álogo,” Aro says.

Lucian frowns.

“Is that- is that just Greek for horse?”

“Yes,” admits Aro, and Lucian laughs.

“It is apt.”

“Rather.”

Aro follows him to the edge of the property. The sun is still out, and he carries some contraption to shield himself from it, but does not venture further from the safety of indoors. Safety from eyes, yes, but safety none the less.

“Have a safe journey, sweet wolf,” Aro tells him, caressing Lucian’s cheek.

Impulsively Lucian leans in to kiss him, just soft lips against each other, brief and chaste.

“Thank you,” he tells him.

Aro looks quite pleased, and only a little wistful.

“We shall meet again,” he promises.

The vampire has provided him with some supplies, including a warm and soft travelling cloak, thankfully not lined with wolf fur this time, and he pulls it closer around him before mounting the horse. He gives the vampire a last look before he encourages the mare into a gentle trot, heading for the city gates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I choose to believe that Aro can turn off the mind reading. I don't know the canon, and to be honest I don't care to look it up because it seems absurd and impractical if he does it always. Also Aro isn't sort uniformly hard and unyielding and like a statue because he smeyer that sounds unpleasant in bed. Terrible for cuddling. A bad time for hugs. Generally just not great.  
> I kind of wanted to have Sonja have pegged him before, but I also wanted this to be his first experience of anal, so :/ Sorry Sonja.


	7. 2012: First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two vampire hunters united in a quest

The first time Lucian and Peter meet, it is in the third basement level of a disused parking garage about an hour outside of Las Vegas. They're both there for the same thing, or rather, the same vampire. 

Lucian, who has left Europe after the ordeal that was 2003, has travelled the continent looking for vampires. What he tells himself is that he is saving innocent humans from an unpleasant death. The reality is closer to needing to avenge his pack.

After his apparent death at the hands of Kraven, that, well, craven, a fitting name for him, Lucian escaped. He must have, he thinks, slipped into some sort of deep, if brief, coma while his body worked to reject and eject the silver nitrate flowing through his veins. He woke up on a slab in some sort of improvised mortuary, on a ship, of all things, and had just made his escape into the water when the ship exploded. He still has no idea what any of this was about, and he didn't stay around to find out.

He made his way first out of Eastern Europe, spending some time first in Berlin, then moving to London, before coming to the conclusion he was still not far enough away. So he started in northern Canada, figuring he would make his way down the western coast of the continent gradually. Hence, now, nearly a decade later, in Las Vegas. Or near it, anyway, it was a bit of a drive.

He had, briefly, gone to Italy to try to get hold of Aro, but there was no one who would speak to him in Volterra, saying only that the vampire lord was elsewhere on business, however much Lucian waved the ring he had been given in their faces. Well, Lucian might have overheard something about North America, and that might have been part of his reason for choosing it instead of, say, losing himself in the forests of Russia in his wolf form for a few decades. Also, Russia got colder than he preferred.

The vampire he has tracked here seems one of the decidedly bad ones, leaving a trail of nearly mauled and fully exsanguinated bodies. Lucian has calmed down over the past few years, no longer so full of rage as he was at the start. Learning of Viktor's death at the hand of Selene helped, as did realising she too had been tricked and lied to by the vile old vampire. Still, he doesn't _not_ look forward to getting his claws bloody.

He moves slow, careful. He can smell the vampire, but also a living victim, and he wants to get to the bloodsucker before they can kill the human. It is curious, really, because this vampire doesn't seem the type to take victims back to their lair, so far carelessly leaving bodies in its wake, but perhaps some homeless person had come in seeking shelter or something similar. It's hard to tell from scent alone, as the stench of rot and decay and vampire permeates the air.

The vampire is on the lowest level, far down and safe from the sun. It's a good choice, Lucian thinks, though quite open. He makes his way down the last ramp, curling around a heavy concrete cylinder, taking care to make his steps as silent as he can. Vampires usually have excellent hearing, but he is hoping this one is too busy with his victim to notice.

Finally Lucian is outside the killing chamber. It seems to have been some sort of small maintenance room. The lock is torn from the door. It is closed, he can hear growling and pained groans, as well as intermittent swearing. He tries to slide out the blade strapped to his arm, but it's jammed. Shit. He must have gotten quite careless, forgetting to grease the mechanism to keep it operating smoothly. Terrible time to find out, but he doesn't worry. He can change. He doesn't want to destroy the blade, however, so he shrugs off his coat, unstraps the blade and tucks them both in a corner. This, it turns out, is a mistake.

The vampire lunges at him just as he gets up, knocking him right back down, his head connecting painfully with concrete. A gash opens at his forehead, and blood runs down into his eyes. It will heal soon enough, but for now it stings. He rubs it out of his eyes with a fist.

"Werewolf," the vampire snarls, disgust on its voice.

"Vampire," Lucian retorts.

"Want a share, is that it? Can't find your own food?" 

It grins, showing off a row of needle teeth, splitting its face almost in half. It's quite grotesque. 

It looms above him. The human it used to be was quite large, arms and chest bulging with muscle. Hopefully it doesn't know how to fight too well. Lucian snarls, letting his own fangs show, and the vampire has the audacity to laugh at him. So Lucian gets up, slowly, exaggerating his injuries, waits for the vampire to let its guard down. 

The vampire seems delighted. Its hands have sharpened nails, nearly claws, bloodied and dirty, though Lucian doubts the blood is its own. They circle each other, slow and calculating, before Lucian pounces on it, managing to knock the thing to the ground. Those sharp nails tear into his skin, and it burns, but he headbutts the vampire, knocking the back of its skull down into the concrete hard enough to stun it for a moment, and he takes this opportunity to bare his fangs and tear into the throat of the thing.

Lucian hates the taste of vampire blood when he is like this. In his wolf form it doesn't matter so much, but his human mouth is made to pick up flavours in a different way, and it tastes like death. Wrong the way eating spoiled food tastes wrong. Of decay and death. Still, as the vampire tries to push him off, making an unpleasant gurgling noise he keeps at it, undead flesh tearing easily under his teeth. The blood doesn't spray out in the way it might with a human, rather it's a viscous trickle, dark and unhealthy looking. 

The vampire manages, impressively, to push Lucian off, staggering to its feet and clutching its bleeding and torn neck. It attempts to say something, but all that comes out is a harsh gurgle. Lucian spits out a chunk of neck meat onto the ground, snarling at the creature. 

Taking advantage of the vampire’s confusion Lucian dodges to the left, then grabs his blade from the floor. It is not made for using like this, but for lack of a better option it will do. The vampire follows after him, one hand still at its neck, but the bleeding seems already to have stopped, and it seems alarmingly unbothered already but what ought to be paralysing pain. It comes at Lucian, but he manages to embed the blade deep in the creature’s innards, pulling it out and then knocking it to the ground. He kneels on its chest, ignoring the hand trying hard to crush his own throat, and uses the blade to saw through its neck, at last severing the head, the hand round his throat going slack.

Lucian gets off him, sitting down on the filthy gore-slick floor, breathing hard for a moment. He manages to relax himself enough to let his fangs recede, his eyes seem more human. With a groan at the smell and taste, he wipes at his face with his sleeve, but this serves more to spread the blood around than anything else. Hopefully the victim is too out of it to notice.

He puts his blade and coat back on, hoping this will cover some of the blood, but despite wiping the blade off on the vampire’s t-shirt some still runs down his arm and hand as he nudges open the door. 

The victim, the human, seems surprisingly unharmed. His face and hands are covered in scratches, and the coat he wears is torn. He’s laying on the floor, and seems to have been slammed into the wall quite hard, because there is a trickle of blood in his hair, and he seems somewhat dazed. Lucian kneels down beside him.

“Hello,” he says as gently as he can, painfully aware of the chunks of vampire flesh still stuck in his teeth. 

Hopefully it’s not too visible. The man looks up at him, eyes not quite focused. He frowns.

“You’re not- Not the- the guy.”

The man is English, which is mildly surprising. 

“I am not. At least if by the guy you mean the man who attacked you. He is- he is taken care of.”

The man frowns, struggling to sit up, accepting Lucian’s help.

“Wha- No, no you don’t understand,” the man says, still a hint of confusion in his voice, “he’s not- not human. ‘S a vampire.”

Ah. 

“Err, what? No. No such thing as vampires. I think perhaps you’ve hit your head quite hard,” Lucian says, though he feels painfully aware he doesn’t sound particularly convincing.

“Why’re you… covered in blood?”

“Uh,” says Lucian, who ought, perhaps, to have thought of an answer to this in advance.

“He attacked me,” he settles on.

“Sure, yeah,” the man acknowledges, “heard that but-”

He frowns again, watching Lucian with big brown and narrowed eyes. Around the corners of his eyes are smudges of eyeliner. Some sort of goth vampire believer?

“No,” he says, “no, the vampire, he said-”

He falters, growing silent again, and Lucian is quietly grateful for his light head injury. Lucian looks around the room, seeing a large shotgun on the floor, and several sharpened stakes, most of which are broken. Ah. Fuck. A hunter. Well, as long as Lucian keeps the illusion of humanity, that’s not too bad.

“How’d you kill it?” the man demands.

And perhaps, Lucian thinks, it is better to play at being a fellow human vampire hunter. He can do that. Think human thoughts. Okay.

“Decapitation,” he says.

“Good one,” the hunter says, squinting at him.

“Did you know,” he asks conversationally, “that there’s two of you?”

So Lucian helps him up and helps him gather his things. He explains the vampire collapsed down on top of him as he he fought it, and that this is why he is absolutely soaked in blood, and the human seems to believe it, though Lucian can tell that he remains suspicious.

It is a relief to emerge into the reasonably fresh air, freer of the stench of dead vampire. Here can sense that there is something slight off about the hunter’s scent, but he can’t quite work out what it is. The vampire’s reek lingers on them both, and it is hard to perceive other, subtler smells through it.

The hunter blinks in the relative light of the aboveground. The moon, halfway full, gives some light, helped significantly by the few street lights whose bulbs have not been shattered. The hunter’s car, which Lucian had failed to notice as he entered, is parked behind a corner. Lucian helps him over to it, as the man assures him he is in fact fit to drive, and there is just like one and a third of Lucian now, tops. Lucian finds the strange man amusing.

“’M Peter,” the man offers, holding out a hand.

“Lucian,” Lucian tells him, self consciously wiping his hand slightly less bloody on his shirt before taking Peter’s.

“Are you completely sure you weren’t bitten?” he asks, for the third time.

It seems something a human hunter would worry about. Lucian has already memorised his plates, and intends to figure out his identity, so he can keep track of whether he turns. 

“Yup. Just scratches. You? You look pretty… bloodied.”

“All the vampire’s, I assure you.”

He talks Peter into exchanging phone numbers, so that, he argues, they can team up if there ever is a vampire too powerful for either of them to take on alone.

“You look like you needed some help today,” he adds pointedly, at which Peter bristles.

“Bad luck, all it was,” he insists, and tosses the last of the broken stakes into the boot of the car. 

Lucian watches him drive off before heading to where he parked his motorbike. There is something faintly familiar about his face, but Lucian can’t place it.

As he drives back towards the city it hits him. Or, rather, he recognises the man’s face, sans blood and plus some fake hair and beard, on a massive billboard next to the road. Fucking Peter Vincent, fake vampire slayer.


	8. 2014: First Meeting II

“You ready?”

Peter mutters his answer from where he is, head deep in an ancient chest of weapons. He bought it for the aesthetics, but it’s vast and dark as fuck and difficult to find anything, let alone one very specific blessed stake (gently singed) among a pile of less holy ones. Lucian claims this one vampire isn’t affected by religious artefacts, but Peter remains convinced it can do no harm. 

They do fewer vampire hunts, now that they’re together. Peter suspects this is because Lucian has started worrying that he will get hurt, that now that he evidently cares about him, even loves him (he has said it seven times so far, Peter has kept count. For normal mentally healthy reasons.) that is an unacceptable outcome. And look, Peter doesn’t disagree. He wants to die far less these days than he used to. It’s nice being with Lucian. Comfortable in a way no real long term relationship he has had as an adult has been.

He has asked. Of course he has asked. And Lucian has admitted that yes, okay, perhaps, but also pointed out that now that he has Peter in his life he feels less of a need to take revenge on the world, to spill the blood of vampires for what they did to him and his pack. And okay, sure, yeah, that makes Peter feel guilty for resenting it a bit. But if anything, him and Lucian together makes them stronger, right? Should do, anyway. Should make them fight harder for themselves and each other. And not to mention, should make Peter safer because he’s got the big bad wolf protecting him. Lucian doesn’t love Peter calling him that, nor jokes about Peter and the wolf, nor, for that matter, any wolf related jokes at all. Which is a shame, because Peter’s been saving them up.

Point is, though. Point is Peter is so much safer now than he ever was on his own. It took a while to realise this. When Lucian first revealed his nature to Peter, after, granted, Peter had sort of mostly figured it out by himself and accused him of it, they didn’t speak for a month. But Peter’s stance on monsters is less aggressive these days. For one, he’s very pro lycan. Gotta be, though, dating the prototype of one. The original. First edition. Real collector’s item.

“Peter?” Lucian asks again, and the human triumphantly emerges from the chest, stake in hand.

“Got it. Ready.”

Lucian has been good for him, really good. Even his therapist, who has only received heavily redacted versions of the story of how they met and what has happened between them agrees. Peter is drinking less, because Lucian doesn’t drink much, and it feels weird to drink alone now that he’s moved in. For much the same reason Peter is a bit less inclined to party, because whenever some hot guy or girl comes on to him, asking him to sign their ass or some shit, he can’t invite them back to his dressing room like he used to. He doesn’t even want to, that’s the weird part. Not that he’s always cheated on his longer term significant others, but he has, perhaps, talked them into three- and foursomes they might not otherwise have been inclined to agree to. He’s even in better shape now, because Lucian is teaching him how to sword fight, which is extremely cool. If you’d told seven year old Peter that one day he would be learning how to sword fight with his werewolf boyfriend he would be ecstatic. He’d always wanted to be a pirate king, and, well, vampire hunter with immortal werewolf boyfriend isn’t quite the same, but he feels it’s in the spirit of it. Equally cool.

Of course, seven year old Peter didn’t know what would happen to twelve year old Peter. Seven year old Peter also didn’t know what nineteen year old Peter would realise, nor how the world around him would receive that realisation. Nor the realisation twenty three year old Peter had. For someone who has, as his therapist puts it, a fascinating combination of inflated and deflated self esteem, he tries these days to have sympathy for his younger selves. They didn’t know better. They couldn’t have foreseen what would happen.

Lucian pulls him from his thoughts with a kiss to his cheek.

“Everything all right?”

“Uh, yeah, yep. Great.”

“Only you were standing there staring at the door for a bit.”

“Just thinking,” Peter promises, “get distracted in my own mind sometimes. Had session today, remember, just feeling all introspective and weird still. Won’t let it get in our way, though. Gonna pay attention.”

“Introspected anything useful?” Lucian asks, sliding his arm around Peter’s waist and resting his chin on Peter’s shoulder.

It’s quite gratifying, Peter thinks, just how much Lucian has picked up of what he initially called Peter’s terrible mistreatment of the English language. Then again, Peter has picked up quite a bit of American in the almost a decade he has been here, so maybe language is impermanent and no one talks a certain way forever. Either way, though, it makes him smile.

“We came to the conclusion,” Peter tells him, “that you’re good for me. Also that I have anger and commitment issues.”

“I support the first conclusion,” Lucian says, “but I’m not entirely sure you need to pay someone a hundred dollars an hour to tell you the second.”

“Hey,” Peter says, though with little inflection, “that’s just mean.”

“Sorry,” Lucian murmurs, and kisses his neck.

He doesn’t sound sorry at all. Peter turns around in his arms, so his chest is pressed into Lucian’s, their faces millimetres apart, so close Peter can’t focus, can only see a pink and brown blur, and then not even that because Lucian’s lips are on his, and his eyes slip closed. They don’t have time for this, not really, because their plan is to be outside the place before the sun sets, ready to ambush the vampire, but Lucian is _right there_ and self control has never been one of Peter’s virtues. 

One of Lucian’s hands slide down to cup his ass, while Peter’s fingers, stake dropped, curl into the fabric of Lucian’s shirt, holding him close. He licks into Lucian’s mouth, a thrill running past him when he feels sharp teeth. It used to be a bit unsettling, the way Lucian’s face would change without warning, when he got particularly passionate or angry, but these days Peter sees it as a compliment. These days he fully admits it’s also a turn on for him. 

There’s an ache between his legs, and he can feel Lucian starting to get hard, grinding against him. He considers. Lucian begins to pepper sharp toothed kisses down his neck. He decides.

God he loves the feeling of Lucian inside of him. He’s sat in Lucian’s lap, his dick deep inside of him as he holds on to Lucian’s shoulders to support and balance himself. Lucian presses open mouthed kisses along his collar bone, one thumb stroking Peter’s clit. They’re still in the hall, open bag of weapons a few feet away, Lucian’s back against the wall. No time for anything else. Also, Peter suspects that if they returned to the bedroom they would never leave. So okay. Speed-running sex. It’s still romantic and loving, even with their jeans shoved down only as far as necessary, Peter’s t-shirt awkwardly shoved up around his neck to give Lucian access.

Lucian is focused on Peter. He always is, no matter how many times Peter tells him it’s okay. That’s why, initially, Peter suggested the strap on. Not only does he personally think it’s very hot to fuck Lucian that way, which is in itself reason enough, though he has always been slightly hesitant to suggest it to guys he’s dated, but it also sort of sets the rules. It’s about Lucian, and it’s Peter’s turn to make sure he has a good time. Lucian assures him it is good always, because it is Peter, and that will always be good, but that makes Peter feel more anxious than reassured.

This, though, this is always good. Lucian covering him soft kisses and thin red lines when there are fangs. Nails digging into the skin of Peter’s back, hands holding onto him so tightly it is almost hard for him to move.

After, they clean themselves up quickly, and toss their bags over their shoulders. Peter has a sword in his belt. Lucian got it for him for his birthday a month ago. It may have taken thirty years since first he asked for a sword for his birthday, but it feels right this time. Lucian made it himself. Forged it just for Peter, and according to him getting the materials and access to an appropriate forge in this day and age is really hard. It’s a good sword, though. Of course it is. The pommel has a carved wolf’s head, and the hilt is wrapped in soft leather. It’s a short sword, simple but effective, and decent for close combat. Light. Easy to use. Slices vampire throats like they’re undead butter.

They get there quickly, just after dusk. It’s a house this time, quite large, bigger than anything Peter’s ever lived in. Not quite a haunted house, but it’s clear it has been abandoned for some time. Well, except for their undead squatter. Well, presumably they’re a squatter. Technically, Peter supposes, vampires can buy houses too. They weren’t able to find quite so much information online. Generally what they do is this: they find reports of suspicious deaths and disappearances, make connections, and eventually triangulate a smallish area. Make a note of any abandoned buildings. Then they drive, slowly, picking up traces. And okay, it feels a bit like Peter’s using Lucian as a blood hound, but according to him this is, in fact, the easiest way to figure out where they are, at least when you know sort of where to start. Also, corpses smell, and sometimes vampires aren’t the best about recycling their food waste.

They found this specific place a week earlier, but when they went through the vampire wasn’t there, and didn’t return while they lay in wait. So they decided to wait a while, partially to lull the vampire into a sense of false safety, but also because Peter had an extra busy week of shows, and needed the one evening he did get off to lay sprawled on his bed with an extra fluffy transformed Lucian cuddled up to him. 

Peter picks the lock easily, but lets Lucian go in first. The protective thing is equally endearing as it is frustrating, but this doesn’t seem the moment to have that argument. Besides, Lucian is objectively the deadlier of the two of them, and also the one with magic healing powers, so really, Peter isn’t actually all that surprised that he always loses this particular debate.

Inside it is dark. They’re going inside rather than waiting for the vampire to emerge because Lucian heard something, heard a conversation down from deep below, somewhere in the cellars. That’s a good place, he argued, easy to corner to them. They’ve got nowhere to run. Peter privately remembers the vampires hidden in the earthen walls of Jerry’s house, but Lucian has assured him it’s not the same species, and that these ones, as he put it, are too concerned with the appearance of elegance to burrow into the dirt.

As they head down the stairs to the cellar, Peter holding the sword aloft, ready for anything, there is an escalation of the noise from below. Even Peter can hear the shouting now, though it’s not in a language he understands. He thinks it might be Italian, but he’s always been shit at anything that wasn’t English. Lucian’s eyes have gone wide, and he keeps sniffing the air audibly, like he’s trying to make sure what it is he’s smelling. Peter glances meaningfully at the door. Lucian frowns, then nods. Before he can open it, though, there is a horrible wet tearing noise from inside.

This seems to alarm Lucian because he pushes the door open, rushing in. Peter follows after, and sees the mess on the floor, the head of a vampire rolling slowly towards them, stopping with a wet thud. The other vampire looks up, red eyes locking on Lucian.

“Lup tânăr,” the vampire says.

“Domnul meu,” Lucian replies.

“What the fuck?” adds Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With any luck the Romanian phrases ought to say "Young wolf" and "my lord", though duolingo has only taught me two of those words so far, and seems mainly concerned that I can identify different kinds of fruit and meat.


	9. 1660: Tempus Ad Lupus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aro wishes to experience more of Lucian, and, as always, he gets his wish.

They meet in Salzburg in 1660. They are nearing the tail end of the Baroque, Caravaggio having been dead for half a century, Artemisia Gentileschi for four years, and beyond the two of them what, one might reasonably ask, is the point. But of course it doesn't feel like the end of an era, not yet. These things are easier seen from the future. The medieval centre of the town is being rebuilt in a more modern architectural style, and it is, at least in Lucian’s opinion, a busy and exciting town. Of course, he and his pack still reside in the remote parts of the Carpathian mountains, though currently they have moved to the parts that stretch through northern Hungary, hoping to keep evading the Corvine vampires by never staying in one place more than a few decades.

Again, Aro has asked him here with little to no explanation. But it’s closer this time, only about a week of travel, and Lucian feels secure enough with how his pack is doing. They’ve grown over time, and currently there are nearly two hundred of them. It feels like a lot, and they’ve had to find a larger place to stay. Right now it’s an ancient castle on a cliff deep in the mountains. It had burnt down, and a few of the towers had collapsed, and evidently the humans involved had not made its reparation a priority, so the lycans moved in. There was a lot of repair work the first ten years or so, but now it stands finished, and it is only its continued upkeep that worries them.

Lucian left Raze in charge, as he usually does when he travels. Raze knows why he leaves, why he obeys their vampiric benefactor’s every whim. Well, the other lycans know the original reason, but Raze also knows the secondary one. It’s important, Lucian feels, not to try to hard to deceive his people. And Raze, being a good second in command, only occasionally makes fun of him for his vampiric lover.

It feels, at times, as if he is very slowly repaying Aro for his generosity with his company, and, occasionally his body, but he enjoys it just as much as the vampire does, and so it is difficult to feel particularly resentful. It is, however, also difficult to feel as if he is not just as much in Aro’s debt as he was in 1413. Which, he suspect, is what Aro wants. 

The thing about having a lover in whose debt he is who can read his thoughts and memories easier than Lucian reads a book is that it is very difficult to know whether he is being manipulated. He recognizes that he probably is, at times, and not just because Raze once pointed it out to him. But he isn’t entirely sure whether he actually minds. Clearly Aro knows very well how to please him, what he longs for in life and how to make him loyal to Aro. But when he does this by showing him the world, by introducing him to new places and languages and cultures, and by worshipping his body in the final hours before dawn, it is very difficult for Lucian to see it as a bad thing.

Lucian knows Aro is not as kind to others. He knows he feeds on humans, and that he can be a ruthless killer. But he knows these things in the abstract, and given his upbringing, given everything in his centuries long life so far, it seems almost expected. He has never seen Aro fight or kill, but he knows how powerful he is, knows he is one of the more important members of vampire society. Lucian wonders, sometimes, whether it is known generally that he has an occasional lycan lover. Wonders what other vampires might say to that. He knows Aro has a wife, but knows also that they seem not to be particularly monogamous. When you are married for over a millennia, Aro tells him, you spend time apart and with other people, and this seems not to bother either of them. That is, at the very least, what Aro claims, though privately Lucian wonders whether she disagrees. Privately he sometimes envies her.

Lucian enters the city an hour after dusk, tired from the journey. He has travelled in his human form for the last five days, and this is significantly more exhausting than travelling as a wolf, but the area through which he has travelled has become quite densely populated, and he does not wish to inspire more tales of monstrous wolf. There have been hunts already, a few too many tales by frightened peasants, who nevertheless seem to possess a near limitless supply of torches and pitchforks.

Aro has given him an address, and he finds himself in front of an old but regal looking building just at the edge of the city centre. It looks to have been recently repaired, the paint bright in the moonlight. It is the night before the full moon, and though Lucian has learned to resist its pull long ago, he prefers to be able to transform, and would not have chosen to spend this week in a populous city. 

A human servant admits him, saying something in German, which is a language Lucian still struggles somewhat with. But he asks after Aro, and shows the woman his ring. He always wears it these days, along with the amulet he took from the remains of his Sonja. Symbols of the vampires who have shown him kindness. Not, of course, that Aro has become to him what Sonja was, he hastens to add even in his own mind. No one, he thinks, can ever become that. But he has realised over the centuries they have known each other that he does love Aro, if in a different way. And he likes to keep a reminder of him on his person.

The interior of the building is grand, as he expects, kept well lit with so many oil lamps that the air is heavy with the smoke. There are beautiful paintings on every wall, intricately carved furniture everywhere, and space, so very much space. It seems entirely impractical to Lucian, but Aro does so love his aesthetics, and there is something endearing in the way he will delight in the sight of beautiful art and handicrafts. 

“Lucian! My sweet wolf, how was your travel?”

Aro welcomes him into a large sitting room, with heavy curtains draped across windows to keep out both the light of the sun and any prying eyes. The vampire looks well. He always looks well, but it is reassuring still. That nothing in the world is so bad that it can ever have an effect on him or his mood. He seems delighted to see Lucian, and the feeling is mutual.

“Tiring, but worth it,” Lucian replies, and Aro embraces him briefly, leaving a kiss on his cheek.

“I can tell,” Aro says, “you reek of wilderness.”

“I fear that is what you agree to when you invite a wolf into your house,” Lucian tells him, and Aro smiles.

“It is indeed. If you do not mind, I will have the servants draw a bath for you in a while? I might even join you.”

Aro sits on an ornate but uncomfortable looking sofa, and gestures for Lucian to join him. 

“That would be most welcome. There is a lack of them between home and here.”

Lucian sits, leaving some space between them. It is his habit still, even after all their meetings through the centuries, to let Aro make the first move. It is a deference that makes him a little uncomfortable to think about, but it feels natural. Not because Aro is inherently better than him, but because it has been the nature of their relationship so far, and because he still remains so very much indebted to him. For more things, now, than simply shelter.

“How is your people?” Aro asks, pouring some wine for Lucian and blood for himself.

“Well. We have not had any trouble with humans in our area yet, though we have been there nearly twenty years now. Though we suspect someone has seen us in our wolf shapes on occasion. There are rumours among the humans that our castle is haunted.”

“How fun!” exclaims Aro.

“As long as no one tries to come near, I suppose it is. Though it does make it slightly more difficult for the lycans who travel to the nearby villages to trade without revealing that they come from that castle.”

“Yes,” Aro agrees, “humans tend to be like that.”

They spend some time there, exchanging news and discussing what human affairs they have heard of for a while. Mostly the news of this last comes from Aro, who travels more, who lives among the humans in an entirely different way than Lucian ever has.

“If I may ask, is there a specific reason you asked me to come here?” Lucian asks.

“Not, of course, that it is not always a pleasure to see you, by why here and now?”

Aro takes a sip of his second glass of blood, watching Lucian with those crimson eyes.

“Do you resent my calling you here?” he asks.

“You know I do not,” Lucian says, a tad hurt that Aro would even ask, though he tries to mask it. 

It is useless, of course, hiding anything from Aro. Lucian has told him now, although doubtless Aro could tell before that, that he would prefer to simply tell Aro things, rather than having him read his mind in an instant when they meet. It feels more fair, he thinks. 

“I know,” Aro tells him with a sigh, “I apologise. I’ve had a tense week here. I would tell you, but frankly I prefer not to think on it any more, not when I have the delightful distraction of your presence.”

He leans closer to press a kiss to Lucian’s cheek. 

“Always happy to be of service,” Lucian tells him, half a joke, half true.

“And I always appreciate that. But to tell you the truth, the reason I invited you here is that there is one thing you’ve never shared with me.”

“There is?” Lucian asks, genuinely puzzled as to what that can be, given the vampire likely knows his life better than he does himself with how many times he has read his mind.

“Yes,” Aro tells him, “your, ah, more animalistic side.”

Ah.

“Ah.”

“Hence the timing, the full moon tomorrow.”

“Indeed.”

“You know, of course, that I can transform without its help?”

“I do,” Aro acknowledges, “but I felt it was fitting, nevertheless.”

“Why?”

Aro is quiet for a while, thinking, no doubt, of a way to say it to avoid offending Lucian. He knows, like he knows all things, that it is somewhat of a sore spot for him. The fascination of vampires for the more beastly lycans. Still, Lucian knows that Aro respects him, knows that if he thinks him lesser in any way it is because of his youth and his inexperience, not his nature. 

“Because I want to truly know you, my dear wolf, and it is a part of who you are, is it not? Seeing your memories, it is hardly the same. For one think I do not think you have ever looked in a mirror while in that state.”

This may, in fact, be true.

“Then I will show you,” Lucian promises, “but not tonight, if that is acceptable. I am tired from my journey, and as you say, the full moon would be a fitting time for such a demonstration.”

“Of course.”

They spend the night together, with Lucian falling asleep in the early hours of the morning. He wakes up around dawn, startled to find that he has slept with his head resting in Aro’s lap, while the vampire reads. But Aro seems not to mind, and asks him to join him in his vast and luxurious bed, three times the size of any Lucian has ever had. They make love, soft and gentle with their shared tiredness, but lovely all the same, and Lucian falls asleep in the vampire’s arms.

When the moon rises, Aro has sent his servants away, to far part of the house, or out on errands, so that they will not hear anything. Lucian has warned him the process might be noisy, that they will need some space. So Aro has his people clear the centre of the room, despite Lucian’s protests that he could have done this perfectly fine on his own. 

“When you are ready,” Aro tells him.

Lucian has been ready since the moon rose, has had to consciously stop it from drawing the wolf out from inside his bones for several hours now, but he doesn’t point that out. Instead he tugs his vampire lord into a soft kiss while he still has lips.

“Of course,” he tells him out loud.

He strips off his clothes, folding them neatly on a chair, and is gratified to see Aro’s eyes linger on his body. It is good, he thinks, to be desired so. They are inside, naturally, and the moonlight does not reach him directly, but it does not need to. Its presence is enough that the change begins the second he lets go.

Aro watches fascinated, that much Lucian can tell, though the transformation always takes up much of his attention. He sees the fur creeping across Lucian’s skin, sees his bones elongate and move, his skull stretch and warp. He observes without visible judgement, and for that Lucian is grateful. The change, he knows, is not a pleasant sight, and though natural to him and his, the first time someone sees it they are often scared or repulsed.

Lucian stands on hind paws, hunched a little, both his natural stance and because the ceilings are not quite tall enough for him to comfortably move should he stretch out. He stands for a while, unmoving, allowing Aro to inspect him. It is a little odd, but he does not mind when Aro strokes his fingers through Lucian’s fur, proclaiming him surprisingly soft.

“You really are my sweet wolf now,” he says, a hand on the rough and leathery skin of Lucian’s cheek.

Lucian inclines his head in a sort of nod, and Aro seems delighted.

“Does it hurt, the change?” he asks, though he must surely already know the answer.

Lucian shakes his massive head.

“Good,” Aro says, and takes Lucian’s front paw in his hands, turning it over and inspecting sharp claws and softer paw pads.

“I know, my sweet wolf, that you have had mixed feelings about this shape of yours, that Viktor and his people put terrible thoughts into your head, but know that you are beautiful.”

Which is not a word he has ever been called looking like this before. Not by Sonja either, but perhaps he did not give her the chance to, only ever transforming twice in her presence. His confusion must show, because Aro takes his head in both of his hands, forcing him to look into those beautifully eerie blood coloured eyes.

“You are, my sweet, I promise you. A beautiful and magnificent beast, just as you are a beautiful and magnificent man. Will it be more comfortable for you to stay in this shape for the duration of the moon?”

Lucian nods his head yes.

“Then you must, my dear.”

And so he does, spending much of his time curled up against Aro’s side, as the vampire reads and works, running his hands through Lucian’s fur every so often, talking through the things he reads to a silent Lucian. Perhaps he thinks more easily if he has an audience. Probably that is it, because he reverts at one point to Italian, and, even later, to Greek, seemingly without noticing. Lucian doesn’t mind, enjoying simply being in his company, listening to the sound of his voice, and being comforted by his familiar scent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title, according to google translate, (my latin conjugation is terrible, so my apologies for that, you'd think with how annoyed I am at my university for not letting me spend seven weeks translating De Bello Gallico for almost no credits I would be better, but no. My high school Latin teacher would be disappointed in me. Though to be fair, she always was.) ought to translate to Time to Wolf, which I found terribly funny.  
> Also my apologies if you were expecting the resolution to the events of the previous chapter, this was not in the cards for today.


	10. 2014: Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, alternately, Interrogation with the Vampire

“What the fuck,” Peter repeats for emphasis.

The vampire looks regal. A pale man with eyes like blood, long dark hair framing his face in a way that’s uncannily familiar. The shape of him, too, not exactly the same, but oh so similar. He is dressed in some fancy goth suit, all blacks and reds and charcoal accents, a splash of blood dripping from manicured hands.

The vampire, about whose identity Peter has suspicions, strides across the room, taking Lucian by the shoulders and pressing a kiss to his cheek, talking rapidly in what Peter can now with some degree of certainty recognise as Romanian. Lucian doesn’t seem to mind, responding, hands coming around the vampire and pulling him into a tight embrace, and Peter doesn’t like this, doesn’t want to see where this is going. The vampire pulls back enough to capture Lucian’s lips in a kiss, and it takes far too long for Lucian to pull back with a guilty start. 

“Hey,” Peter says, sword pointedly still drawn, “I know all you ancient fucks speak every language on Earth, but some of us are mostly monolingual, so could we keep it to English?”

He doesn’t comment on the kiss, figuring that with their history, a joyous reunion is easily explained away, however much it pains him to see. Lucian has talked this last month, since before Christmas about how he worries for his vampire lord, and how difficult finding anything out has been. One, however, is all Peter is willing to give them.

“Apologies,” Lucian says with a soft smile betraying his relief, “I will. This is Aro, the vampire of whom I told you.”

He turns to Aro, whose eyebrows are raised in a sort of bafflement that looks familiar.

“What is the human doing here, my sweet wolf, why are we listening to it?”

Being called it stings badly, however much it is for reasons due entirely to his species, this time. Peter swallows it down, adds it to a list of resentments against both vampires in general and this one specifically. He glares Aro, who regards him only with amusement, as if he were a kitten trying to growl and scare. Probably that’s about as dangerous as he seems to this ancient bloodsucker.

“The human,” Lucian says in the tone of one trying desperately to soothe offence and avoid a fight, “is my lover, and fellow va- ah. Paranormal investigator.”

“Nice save,” Peter tells him, rolling his eyes.

“A human, really?” Aro asks, his expression and tone making it very clear exactly what he thinks of that.

“Was not Sulpicia a human before the two of you wed?”

Aro gives him a tight and displeased little smile.

“She was, but did not remain so for long. Will you truly never take a lover of your own kind? Not, of course, that I mind your preference for mine.”

“You know full well that I have, Aro.”

“Look,” Peter interrupts the two again, not particularly wanting dirt on the amount of species with which his boyfriend has had sex, “Aro, don’t talk about me as if I’m not here, and Lucian, please tell me what is going on?”

The vampire and lycan let go of one another at last, the vampire taking a few steps back, and Lucian positioning himself between the two; a mediator. Peter lowers his sword at last.

“Aro was simply telling me that he has indeed survived the attack on his coven,” Lucian explains, voice deliberately calming.

“And my darling Lucian was just about to tell me how it came to be that he is not, as my reports indicated, eleven years in the ground,” Aro adds, glancing meaningfully at the lycan.

They both speak perfect English, proper and fancy, despite clearly neither being native to the UK. It makes Peter feel at bit shit for sleeping through the few years of obligatory French lessons he had and then never making an effort at anything more than deciphering old Latin texts, but he supposes when you’ve had centuries to practise it must come easily enough.

“I heard, you know, about the events in Budapest,” Aro says, and there does seem to be genuine concern in his voice, “my people reporting on that great clash between the local vampires and the lycans, though what details they had were scarce, due to, well. The fatalities of the situation. As soon as I was told I had them search for you, for any hint as to whether you might still be safe, but all they found was the wreckage of a ship, and the intelligence that your dead body had been on it.”

Lucian looks to physically be stopping himself from going over to embrace the vampire once more, to console him.

“I am sorry that I never managed to contact you. I tried, you know. I went to Volterra. But all they would tell me was that you were not there.”

“Whoever kept that from me, I shall have their heads,” Aro vows, and Lucian looks pained.

“Please don’t,” he asks, “it is over now, and we are both safe. Now, please tell me of your survival? Peter told me he heard all of the Volturi were killed in whatever conflict it was. And here, in the Americas of all places.”

“A well informed human,” Aro says, looking almost impressed.

“Got a name,” Peter mutters, giving the vampire as mean a look as he can muster.

“I’m sure you do,” Aro agrees, and hey, at least it’s direct acknowledgment this time, second person and everything.

“There was indeed a battle. My people against a small group threatening our entire way of life-”

“Unlife,” Peter adds under his breath.

“And aided by some werewolves local to the area. One of the vampires, a new recruit of astounding powers, able to keep us all from using our own to the fullest lead them all. I- I do not know what happened, but it seems I am the only one who survived. Even when I have tried to contact my people in Volterra there has been no answer.”

Lucian looks distraught, and Peter, damn him, feels bad for his love. 

“And this guy here, what’s he done, then, to deserve you ripping his head off?” Peter demands, breaking through the tension with a lack of tact that feels comfortable.

“He was a traitor, who aided in the massacre of my coven,” Aro replies.

And that seems a fair enough reason for murder, Peter thinks, at least if you’re an ancient monster who feeds on humans. Personally he thinks one vampire coven less in the world is a bonus, but he keeps this to himself. Though Lucian would likely defend him, Peter doesn’t doubt that Aro could easily have him dead in seconds.

“And why are you here?” Aro asks, addressing Peter directly this time.

“Ah,” says Peter, “well, this guy killed a bunch of real people too. Not for political reasons or whatever. Just got peckish and ate people, no care at all for the loved ones left behind.”

Hurt flashes across Lucian’s face.

“Real people as opposed to what?” Aro demands icily.

“As opposed to undead who, and I can’t emphasise this enough, eat people.”

“Uh, not including lycans, obviously, you know that, right, babe?” Peter asks, suddenly worried he’s gone too far.

Lucian just looks upset, and doesn’t reply. Peter ignores the guilt that prickles at the edges of his nerves. It will, no doubt, be time for that later. He hates it. Hates that his clearly righteous anger at this old fuck who has probably been eating people for a thousand years somehow turns into his feeling guilty for being mean to his boyfriend’s ex. Or are they exes? Aro doesn’t seem to think so. Who knows how vampires have relationships. Lucian mentioned Aro’s spouse, but they seem not to enter into this at all.

“But Lucian, my dear sweet wolf,” Aro begins, ignoring Peter’s brief tirade, and how is it he gets to call Lucian wolf but it’s weird when Peter does it?

“I should like at last to call upon you for that favour you have owed me for so long.”

Lucian’s eyes seem almost to light up, and Peter feels almost sick with unease. Aro smiles.

“Anything,” Lucian tells him, “of course, my lord. Anything you need.”

“Splendid,” Aro says, clapping his hands together in delight.

“I will need what you asked of me six centuries ago; shelter. You see, my connections have been severed, my resources disappeared, and I need some place from which to investigate what has happened, to work out whether any of my coven remain in Italy or any of our allies across Europe.”

Peter sees Lucian’s eyes flicker towards him.

“No.”

“Peter?”

“No. No, abso-fucking-lutely not.”

Aro looks at them, clearly puzzled. Peter can’t believe Lucian’s even asking this. Can’t believe the fucking nerve.

“I owe Aro my life, Peter, the life of my pack, a thousand times over. He gave us shelter for half a century,” Lucian pleads.

“Sixty-seven years,” Aro corrects helpfully.

“It’s my fucking flat, Lucian.”

“I live there too, at, may I add, your suggestion.”

“Yeah, well, you- you don’t pay rent,” Peter says, with a hint of triumph.

“Why would I, you own the place?”

Peter groans, running a hand through his hair.

“If it helps my cause I do promise not to feed on you,” Aro offers, with a sickly sweet and entirely insincere smile.

“Fuck off,” Peter tells him.

“Peter, look, it’s a big flat. There’s room, you know that. I can start paying rent, or pay for Aro, if that will help.”

“Money’s not the fucking problem, Lucian!”

“You brought it up,” Lucian tells him, and even though he is clearly desperate to convince Peter he remains calm.

“In what fucking world, Lucian, is it acceptable to ask your current boyfriend to let your ex crash indefinitely?”

“It wouldn’t be indefinitely,” Lucian promises with a worried glance at Aro that does nothing to reassure Peter, “right? Just until he figures out how to get his coven back up and running. Definitely no more than sixty-seven years.”

“I know you’ve never been human, Lucian, but I won’t fucking be alive in sixty-seven years.”

“We might kill him,” Aro suggests, nodding at Peter, “I am feeling just a tad peckish.”

Lucian gives him a warning glare, and at least that’s something in Peter’s favour. It seems he has to settle for scraps of loyalty today.

“Not fucking happening,” he repeats.

“I would,” Aro says, voice a great deal quieter, “be willing to refrain from feeding on humans for the duration. 

“My love,” Lucian says, turning to Peter and taking his hands, “I would be eternally grateful to you. I would forge you as many swords as your heart desires, I will do that one thing in bed you asked about, I will never again point out the inaccuracies in your show.”

“Show?” Aro asks, but neither of them respond.

“And more than that,” Lucian says, “it would make me terribly happy to be able to help one who so helped me when I needed it, when my people were weak and newly freed from our enslavement.”

Which is just cruel, bringing it up like that, all sneaky. But playing host to a vampire for who knows how long? Knowing what Lucian knows of Peter’s past? That is a lot to ask. 

Aro endeavours to look contrite, going so far as apologising for any offence he might have caused. Lucian lists ever more concessions he shall make, fantasies of Peter’s he promises to indulge, and while Peter does appreciate the offer, he does wish Lucian wouldn’t put it out there with Aro blatantly listening.

“I shall never complain about any of your wolf jokes again,” Lucian adds to his ever growing list of offers, and oddly enough that’s the last straw for Peter, that is where his willpower falls, crumbles into dust.

“...There will have to be rules,” he mutters, defeated, and is immediately enveloped in Lucian’s arms.


	11. 2014: The Rules of Cohabitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aro moves in

The agreement almost falls apart within five seconds of them entering Peter’s flat. Aro begins immediately to question the hall filled with various weapons against vampires and the supernatural (though the gun with the silver bullets is gone, became gone very shortly after Lucian and Peter made up after the revelation of Lucian’s nature), discarding most of it as superstitious nonsense, and questioning why on Earth Peter keeps the stuff here, like a museum of death. Which is when Peter reveals another important fact.

“It’s because I’m a fucking vampire hunter, dipshit.”

Lucian’s eyes go wide, looking to Aro to judge the vampire’s reaction, but he merely looks mildly surprised.

“Are you, now? And how many of my kind have you hunted down and killed?”

Peter frowns for a moment, making the deliberate choice to avoid counting on his fingers.

“Eleven,” he concludes.

“And how many of them were like me?”

“Assholes, you mean?”

Aro gives him a cold smile, and Lucian is visibly trying to think of a way to settle this, but doesn’t seem to have come up with anything yet.

“True immortals,” Aro replies.

“As opposed to fucking what? None of you fucking age?”

Aro glances at Lucian with a frown, but he just shrugs in answer, looking to Peter, and there’s very clearly something that neither of them is telling him, and he will find out what it is, but for now it can wait.

“You seem to care for those left behind by the victims of vampires,” Aro says instead, “do you imagine the vampires you kill have no loved ones, no one to miss them?”

“You forfeit the right to me caring about that when you kill humans to feed,” Peter retorts.

Lucian murmurs something to Aro in subdued tones. It’s not in English, but Aro’s faces softens just a touch.

“Well,” he admits, “I suppose that is understandable, then.”

“What?” Peter demands, “can the two of you- actually, you know what, first rule if this is supposed to work without any of us committing murder, no you two talking secret in Romanian or whatever. Long as I’m in the room, English only.”

And is that a bit unfair of him? Yes. Is it, given England’s history with almost every country on Earth quite a bad look for him? Also yes, but fuck it. He’s not having any of this secret talking about him behind his back while he’s _right fucking there_.

“All right,” Lucian says softly, clearly aiming to defuse tensions.

“I suppose that will be fine,” Aro agrees through gritted fangs.

“Good. Great. All right. Yes, vampires are people, yes murdering them is probably not a hundred percent ethically fine, I know that, but neither is murdering people for food, so I think we can both agree that you don’t have any moral high-ground here, all right?”

Aro makes a face that very efficiently communicates that while he does not agree, this isn’t worth arguing about just now. That’s fine. Plenty of time for arguing later. 

“Second rule; no human blood in the flat. Except mine. But that stays inside of me at all times. Also no biting. If you gotta feed, and I mean, no eating humans is still a hard rule here, but if you gotta keep some here, get the pigs blood from the butcher or something.”

Aro makes a face.

“Not your favourite? Tough.”

Aro sighs.

“These are… harsh restrictions, but I will manage. How do you feel about blood willingly given?”

“Like what, like paying a human to let you have a taste?”

Aro frowns.

“No. As in obtaining blood from blood banks.”

“Oh. Nope. That’s for sick people who need it.”

“I need it too,” Aro argues.

“You’re perfectly able to survive on animal blood,” Lucian points out, and Aro glares at him.

Peter grins. Excellent. Lucian back on his side.

“Fine,” Aro relents, “only animal blood. However tempting you seem.”

He licks his lips pointedly, and Peter rolls his eyes. Guy like him, millennia old, he’s got to have the self control necessary to do this, even if he’s never had to exercise it before. 

“Right,” says Peter, “’s it for now. But I retain the right to keep making new rules, all right? Now, I’ve got a spare room here you can have. Even have blackout curtains in there, though if you need to, I don’t know, shove a dresser in front of the window or whatever to be completely sure the sun can’t get you, that’s fine.”

Lucian looks as if he is about to say something, but Aro interrupts him.

“That will be acceptable, yes.”

“Uh. Ye- Good. Good. And I guess, give me a day or two to figure out the key situation and that. I’m guessing you don’t like, turn into fog and drift through windows and stuff?”

“Sadly not,” Aro admits, “such gifts, I think, belong mostly in the fairy tales you humans write of us.”

They settle into the chairs surrounding the fake fireplace in the entryway, and Aro looks out the window at the brightly lit city below. It is only an hour or two until dawn, but the people down below are still awake.

“What do you do, Peter, to have such a fine abode?” Aro asks, and that’s the first time he has actually acknowledged Peter’s name, so that’s something.

“Err,” says Peter.

“I’m, uh, I’m in showbiz. Entertainer.”

“Oh? A singer? Actor?”

Peter makes an uncomfortable noise. He’s not ashamed of his chosen career, that’s not it, he’s proud of what he has achieved, and despite Lucian’s gentle suggestions as to how the show might be made more accurate, he is proud of what it has become. Only, it seems a little silly, telling a vampire that. So he excuses himself without answering, heading over to the bar and pouring himself a drink, draining it, and pouring two more. One for him, one for Lucian.

“Assuming you do not drink… wine…?” he says in his worst Bela Lugosi voice

“Indeed,” Aro confirms, and Peter can tell from his face that he both recognises the reference and doesn’t appreciate the comparison.

Lucian graciously accepts his glass, pressing a kiss to Peter’s cheek, and Peter can’t help but think about how the last thing those lips touched were Aro’s mouth. Gross. No, okay, that’s not fair, no part of Lucian could ever be gross, but it is… weird. Definitely weird.

He settles back in his chair, gulping down a good third of his drink.

“I do a show,” he clarifies, eyes locked on the swirling liquid in his glass, “about hunting vampires.”

“Oh?”

Peter can hear the delight and curiosity in his voice, just from that single syllable.

“Yeah. ‘S pretty, uh, lucrative I guess, what with all this,” he says and gestures vaguely at the flat, the view, the priceless vampire weapon artefacts that ought, really, to be in museums.

He looks up at Lucian, who gives him a supportive smile, because he is the best and loveliest boyfriend Peter has ever had, even if he does invite judgemental vampires into what is now their shared home. And okay, that’s on Peter a bit too. It had been him who asked Lucian to move in, who had, maybe a little bit, talked him into it, although in his defence the place Lucian had rented had been a bit of a shithole, and Peter can’t imagine Aro would have enjoyed staying there. But he supposes he played his part in the three of them ending up in this less than optimal situation. 

-

It is odd, sharing his home with an additional person. Aro, it turns out, doesn’t sleep, which Peter finds both odd and sad. He feels for the vampire for never being able to turn his brain off for a while, and he finds it disturbing hearing someone move around the flat while he and Lucian are in bed. 

Aro is most active at night, however, when he frequently leaves the flat, going out to do whatever. Vampire business. Peter had thought having a nocturnal visitor would maybe spark him into actually having what he has been informed is a normal and sensible sleep schedule for the first time since he went to school, but that turns out not to be the case. They’ve got to appreciate, he feels, the times when the flat is his and Lucian’s alone. 

“Are vampire senses, like, as good as lycan senses?” he asks Lucian one afternoon as they wake lazily and slowly in each others’ arms.

“I think so,” Lucian replies, “though it is hard to know exactly. Certainly their hearing, vision and olfactory capabilities are at the very least comparable.”

“So, uh. So can you hear him, now?” 

Lucian shushes him, frowning for a moment, then nods.

“I can hear him turning the page of his book, hear him breathing.”

“He breathes?”

“He does. Apparently it’s difficult to have a sense of smell without doing so, and also, I think he told me, it’s a habit many of them keep.”

Peter rolls off Lucian and over onto his back.

“So he can definitely hear this conversation, then.”

“Yes,” Lucian confirms, and smiles amused at Peter’s pained groan.

“Fuck off, Aro,” Peter mutters.

“He says,” Lucian tells him, “that he would turn that particular skill off if he were able, so he would never have to overhear your terrible choices in television programming again.”

“Can’t blame him for that, really. But this means that we can’t, you know,” he makes a very descriptive gesture, “unless he’s out?”

Lucian shrugs.

“You’ve got to remember he’s been like this for over three thousand years. I imagine he is quite used to it. They have human servants, you know, the Volturi. And I am fairly certain we can both hear the couple two floors below who are having, by the sounds of it, a very good time right now.”

Peter grimaces.

“Eww. Still, though. It would feel weird with him like. Listening in and stuff.”

Lucian cocks his head for a moment, then smiles.

“He informs me that there is, in fact, nothing he would like less than to listen to us having sex.”

“Well,” says Peter, “at least we’re all agreed.”

He glances mournfully down at Lucian’s cock, strokes his hand down the length of it once, and then cuddles up to Lucian again, wondering if he can get in another quick nap before he has to get out of bed for his show.

-

One day, Peter walks into his bathroom and lets out a high pitched shriek. He had very much not expected to find Aro naked, reclined in Peter’s bathtub with a book and a wineglass of blood.

“What the fuck are you doing there?” he demands, after slapping a hand across his eyes.

There are bubbles in the water, and he can’t see anything more indecent of Aro than his chest and the tops of his knees poking out, but it is still far more than he ever intended to see.

“Having a bath,” Aro replies deadpan, taking another sip of blood.

“I can- uh, I can see that, but why?”

Peter removes his hand but keeps his eyes firmly on the bathmat on the floor. Aro is using Peter’s nice citrus scented bubble bath, and he wonders whether he should add no nicking Peter’s really expensive bath products to the ever growing list of rules.

“Dust and grime settles on me the same as you, even if my body no longer, ah, excretes dirt that needs cleaning up,” Aro tells him, managing to make humans sound like the squeeze shit out through their pores, “would you prefer if I abstain?”

“Uh,” says Peter dumbly.

“No, sure, okay, just… Just fucking lock the door, man.”

“I shall attempt to remember to do so in the future,” Aro promises, and Peter can practically hear him wink.

-

On the nights when Peter has his show, Lucian and Aro do get some time together. On the first such, which happens three days after Aro’s moving in, he finds Lucian the second the elevator doors close behind Peter, pressing him against the wall and capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. Oddly, though, Lucian puts his hands on Aro’s chest and pushes him gently back.

“What?” he demands, in Romanian again now that Peter isn’t there to complain about linguistic diversity.

“We can’t,” Lucian tells him, with a slightly regretful expression.

“Why not? The hu- fine. Peter. Peter has gone. What is the harm?”

“The harm is me betraying his trust,” Lucian says, though his hands still linger on Aro’s chest, and the warmth of his touch feels as nice as it always has.

“That’s never been an issue before,” Aro counters.

Lucian has taken many lovers as far as Aro is aware, who weren’t him, but they have never emotionally compromised him. This has been fine by Aro, a lovely perk which has meant the wolf has never been tangled up in emotions that would cause him to rebuff the vampire’s invitations.

“No,” agrees Lucian, “but I have not cared so deeply for any of them. I love Peter.”

Aro pouts, despite himself.

“And do you not love me?”

“I do,” admits Lucian, “of course. But we have never been together for long, the two of us. I haven’t seen you for over thirty years, and though that is little time for us, it is still…”

He falters. Aro takes his hands in his own, rubbing a thumb over the old ring Lucian still wears, with the Volturi V carved into it. He does appreciate that Lucian has kept it, all this time, that he continues to wear it. He has nothing of Lucian’s, no symbol of their long, if infrequent relationship, and he wishes he did. He cannot have been with Peter for long, yet the human already has a custom forged sword. Not that Aro needs swords. Not that he envies the human having all of Lucian’s love. The human will die, soon enough, and then Lucian can be his again. Unless, of course, Lucian turns the human. 

He lets Lucian lead him into a room with a long sofa covering on entire side, with a black screen taking up nearly half of the wall opposite. They sit down next to each other, almost close enough to touch, but not quite.

“Why him?” Aro asks.

“Why anyone? I don’t know. He is a strange human. His life has been marred by the violence of vampires, as has mine. Different, vampires, of course, than you, and different than mine, but it is still something we have in common. He is so very passionate about everything he does, so determined to squeeze the most enjoyment from the short life he has. And he is good looking, you can’t deny that.”

“I suppose,” Aro concedes, though he hasn’t really thought about that yet.

“Is he better than me in bed?” he demands, partly because he wants to know the answer and partly because he does so enjoy watching Lucian get flustered.

A gratifying flush creeps across the lycan’s cheeks.

“No,” he admits, “but he has had only the smallest fraction of experience and practise you have had, so I do not think he can be blamed for that. And also just. Different.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” Aro agrees. 

He watches the lycan’s face, frustrated that he has to live this close to his lover, yet has to watch him share another’s bed. Hear them kiss and whisper sweet meaningless things to each other. He wants Lucian, and Lucian wants him too, and there is no sense in this human standing in the way. Something, he decides, will have to be done about that.

-

Lucian loves Peter, loves him with all his heart, but it is challenging having Aro not see that, being pushed against a wall and kissed by someone he also loves, someone he also desires. He wishes Aro could see it, could respect that while Lucian loves both of them, he is in a relationship with Peter now, and cannot just go around kissing his former lover whenever Peter leaves the room.

Aro still hasn’t read his mind. It’s odd, Lucian thinks, because even though he has repeatedly told the vampire that he will fully and honestly tell him everything, the vampire always does. Perhaps he is worried about what he might see. Maybe he thinks he will discover that Lucian no longer cares for him, although it must be evident by now that he still does. Or else that seeing how much Lucian wants him back too will make this situation even more difficult. It has been less than a week so far, and already there is tension. Well, more and different tension than there already was. 

It is nice too, though, having him back in Lucian’s life. He has missed the vampire, and it does delight him, though he tells neither Aro nor Peter this, to have him back on a longer term basis. Due to their usually residing in different countries, both having the responsibilities of their peoples, they have never spent more than a month in each other’s company, before either, though usually Lucian, had to return. Even with the advent of more modern and convenient forms of travel, they usually never met more than twice every ten years. So though he hopes, of course, for Aro’s sake that he will be able to re-establish his coven, he selfishly would not mind if it took years.

They get on each others’ nerves, Aro and Peter. Both of them are used to getting their way, and both of them get quite easily irritated, and were he not forced to be the middle man it would almost be funny to Lucian. 

He finds himself spending every moment that Peter is busy with his work with Aro, hearing him talk of developments in the vampire world, or telling him of the past struggles he has had with vampires. He talks to Aro of his lost pack, many of whom Lucian has hear him talk of before, some of which he has met, and it helps. There are so many lives that have been lost, and in this decade since he has not had the opportunity to talk of it to someone who understands. In turn, of course, he listens to Aro tell him of the vampires that were lost, of those strange golden eyed ones who allied with the wolves to kill his coven. Which is quite odd, he himself being a wolf, and Aro’s own eyes changing, getting closer to a golden amber every day. It’s the diet, he explains. Subsisting on animal blood will leech the colour from his eyes, turning them golden. It looks good, of course, because any colour would look good on Aro, but Lucian finds himself missing the familiar red.

“I do wish I could love the both of you,” Lucian tells Aro one evening when Peter is busy playing vampire hunter for a crowd of unsuspecting humans.

“You can. You do,” Aro replies.

He puts down the book he has been reading, some translation of an ancient work he stops every few pages to inform Lucian is horribly misunderstanding the intent and context of the original.

“I do,” Lucian agrees, “but properly. I miss you, I miss being close to you, but I won’t do that to Peter. I won’t lie to him or make him feel unloved or secondary.”

“I know,” sighs Aro.

“You are far too good and responsible for your own good. And, evidently, mine.”

Lucian laughs, and Aro gives him a small smile, amused and accomplished. He leans back. They are in separate chairs, opposite each other, because one time they had been on the sofa Lucian had ended up half draped across his beloved vampire, and that would lead to other, unacceptable things.

He feels guilty, now, all the time, for still having feelings for Aro, however much it is not a choice, nor something he can control. Peter is, he thinks, the first person he has loved so deeply since Sonja, have loved in a different way than he and Aro have loved each other, and it is difficult. He has confided in Aro, has told him of this, but has not dared broach the subject with Peter. Not yet. Peter seems still to be moments from throwing the vampire to the wo- well, not to this wolf, certainly, but throwing him to the mercy of the sun the second he crosses to big a line. Of course, he doesn’t know yet that the sun cannot harm Aro, but Lucian figures he will learn soon enough.


	12. 2014: Simmering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one expects sharing their home to be easy, but Peter's forgotten just how inconvenient flatma

Peter sinks into Lucian, slowly, letting him get used to the stretch of the silicone shaft. He enjoys the soft groan from Lucian. Peter himself feels no hurry, not yet. Lucian has just spent a good while eating him out, and he can still feel echoes of his tongue inside him, on him. Can still taste himself when he leans down to kiss Lucian. 

The fingers on his right hand are still slick with lube from getting Lucian ready, still warm from being inside him. 

“Can move now,” Lucian tells him, sounding breathless but eager, an encouraging hand settling on Peter’s hip, tugging softly, needy.

Peter has never as such stopped being wet, but this reignites the need within him. Slowly he pulls almost all the way out, then pushes in again, letting the noises Lucian makes guide him. He guides Lucian’s legs up around his waist, takes Lucian’s wrists in his hands and pinning them to the mattress, which gets a very excited noise from his boyfriend. Interesting. It’s laughable, of course, Lucian is infinitely stronger than him, but the idea of it seems to be pleasing to him still.

Peter thrusts in again, particularly hard, trying to find just the right angle. It always takes him a while when they do it like this, the lack of sensory response from the dildo slightly challenging. Lucian helps, wriggling and attempting to angle himself right, but that mostly just makes it harder and looks silly enough for Peter to laugh.

“What?” demands Lucian.

“Nothing,” Peter assures him, “I love you.”

Lucian’s face melts into a smile, so fond it makes Peter’s heart (as well as, ah, other organs) ache. 

“I love you too,” Lucian tells him, in a voice so tender it’s almost painful.

Fourteen. Still keeping count. Not that it matters. It doesn’t matter. But maybe it is something, something concrete that Peter can tell himself when he feels particularly shit. Lucian has said he loves him fourteen times. That’s too much to be a joke, too much to be an accident, too much to be just saying it back to be polite.

“Hey,” Lucian asks, “you okay?”

Peter realises he’s just sort of been kneeling over Lucian for a few moments, staring down into the pillow beside him.

“Uh, ye- course. Always. Just. Keeps surprising me.”

Lucian frowns.

“What does?”

“You feeling the same way about me.”

“Have I ever led you to believe I did not?”

“No,” Peter reassures, “I have. I just. Y’know. You’re… You.”

“I am me,” Lucian agrees, “and?”

“I mean, you’re like a cool immortal revolutionary hero who makes cool ass swords, and I’m just… me.”

“You are you,” Lucian says, “that is why I love you.”

Fifteen.

“It may have taken me a while to… To admit that, to tell you. It’s a daunting prospect, after so long, to love someone, fully and properly again. Frightening, to admit to the vulnerability of caring for someone so deeply.”

Peter considers for a moment that this is turning into quite a serious conversation to be having while he’s got a silicone shaft strapped to him and shoved as far up Lucian’s ass as it will go. 

“That’s not, I mean. I get it, yeah? I mean, much as a mere mortal can, anyway. Centuries of mourning and that. Takes you a while to be ready.”

“I don’t think I was,” Lucian tells him, looking up at him with eyes that are slowly fading back to their greenish brown, the blue retreating, “not really. Or done mourning. I don’t think I ever will be. I’m not sure one ever truly gets over things like that, only that they take up less of the space within you. But I think there was room. For me to love you. And I am very grateful for that. And for you returning those feelings.”

Sixteen. 

Thing is, dating someone who, if only by having the advantage of 767 more years of experience, is some much more impressive than him, is that it gets easy to spend a lot of time thinking about that. About measuring up. To dead loves or vampire lords who have shown him the world. About how, judging by Lucian’s own looks, Peter has already aged more than he ever did. How he will keep doing so until he rots away, while Lucian stays ever the same, frozen and perfect. Not dead perfect, not like Aro, but unchanging however much the world changes and ages around him.

“Yeah,” Peter says, because he’s been quiet too long, “yeah, I get that. And, you know, same. Very glad this,” he gestures at the two of them, locked together, “is all happening. Just, you know. Suddenly you’ve got this dude from your past showing up, all ancient and impressive and inhumanly perfect skin. A guy gets to comparing, is all.”

Lucian’s face contorts in worried guilt, which in turn makes Peter feel guilty for bringing it up. Brilliant. Useful.

“I didn’t- I mean. Not your fault. Don’t- Right I know I brought it up but lets not talk about Aro while fucking, that’s just. Nope. Gotta enjoy this time to fuck while the fucker’s out. All right? We can be worried and guilty and whatever after, but I won’t let my brain ruin this very good moment of fucking you, okay?”

“Okay,” Lucian agrees, lifting one of the hands pinning his to press a kiss to Peter’s knuckles, “please feel free to keep fucking me whenever you’re ready, yes?”

Peter loves Lucian with all his fucking heart, he realises. He realises this quite frequently, but it hasn’t made the impact every time lessen yet. But instead of telling him again he starts moving again, finding a good rhythm, a good angle where the base of the synthetic cock presses against his clit on every thrust. He props himself up on one hand, wrapping the other around Lucian’s cock, trying to stroke along with his thrusts. It’s challenging, but Lucian does seem to be having a good time, and that’s what this is about. Lucian for once just laying down and relaxing. Having pleasure thrust upon him. Or into him. Whichever. It’s also a little bit about how much Peter gets off on this, on seeing the dildo disappear into Lucian and the sensory feedback is almost enough.

Lucian writhes below him, arching his back, fucking into Peter’s fist. His long and almost perpetually tangled hair is spread around his head like a dark halo. He is beautiful, losing himself in pleasure, eyes having fallen closed, slightly parted lips revealing the fangs are back. His hands curled into claws in the sheets. His skin is flushed, and he is so very warm beneath Peter. Werewolf thing, it appears. Running a bit hotter than your average human. In a metaphorical as well as a literal sense, clearly. Just look at him.

Peter leans down to kiss him again, and the scrape of fangs against his lips sends a shock of arousal through him. Always does these days. Something about bringing Lucian so much pleasure he very slightly loses control. Incredibly hot.

Peter isn’t trying to rush, though the fact that morning grows closer is something the more practical part of his brain is aware of. The horny part, though, which whenever Lucian’s around is significantly more in control, is focused on making sure his lover has a good time as is lycanly possible. Point is, he feels pretty good when Lucian goes still beneath him, back arched, inner muscles presumably clenching, lovely cock spilling all over his own stomach and Peter’s hand. He makes a show of licking it off as seductively as he can before leaning down to kiss Lucian again.

“Love you,” he tells him again, for good measure.

“And you,” Lucian replies, eyes still closed, a blissed out look on his face.

Seventeen. It’s the right intention, if not words. It counts.

"Just gonna go wash this off," Peter says, gesturing to the dildo still jutting out from the harness, glistening and slick.

"Keep forgetting and if they get dusty it gets real nasty," he adds, making a face.

Lucian nods in sympathy, but makes no move to, well, move. Enjoying the aftershocks. Leaves Peter to be the responsible one making sure they don’t wake up later all crusty and gross.

He gets off the bed, leaning over Lucian to kiss his forehead before walking out the door, and, alarmingly, seeing Aro walking in from the hall. 

They stare at each other, Peter's eyes wide with surprise and embarrassment, Aro's flicking down to Peter's crotch, then back up to his face, eyebrows rising into tall arches. He opens his mouth as if to say something -probably, knowing Aro, some sort of insult-, frowns, closes it, and walks into his room. Peter feels his face flush, and groans, seeking refuge in the bathroom and locking the door after himself.

Fuck. It’s been a good 15 years since he had flatmates, and it’s not something he has missed. It’s why he’s only had sex partners stay over or linger here. They’re used to seeing him naked, want to. And now he’s gotta wear a robe to go from his bedroom to the bathroom? Unacceptable. Horrible. Ugh.

-

“So, you two ever gonna talk about how come you look so fucking similar?”

They’re having a flat meeting, which apparently is something they all have to suffer through now, however fucking awkward it is. It is, however, delightful to see how annoyed Aro is at having to take into account the wants and needs of other sentient beings for apparently the first time since the Minoan civilisation. They have, however, finished agreeing on flat policies as to locking doors and wearing robes when there is nudity involved, and so Peter’s cracked open a beer and is waiting patiently to learn this particular secret.

“What?” says Lucian.

“Excuse me?” demands Aro, at almost the exact same time.

“Y’know,” Peter says, gesturing with his bottle at the two of them.

“I mean, styling’s a bit different, and you’ve got the funny colour changing eyes, well. You’ve both got those, I suppose, but like. Different ones. But like, underlying bone structure? Same eye shape, same nose, same hands. Similar if not same choices in hairstyles.”

At this last both of them seem mildly offended, which for some reason is terribly funny to Peter.

“We do not,” says Aro haughtily.

“Just because we’re two white men with long dark hair we’re identical?” Lucian asks, “Peter, I am sorry to have to break this to you, but, at least when you’ve got your costume on, you are also a white man with long, dark hair.”

Aro makes a noise of agreement, and an accompanying nod.

“Exactly,” he says, “boulders and stained glass houses and such.”

“I- what? No, no, never mind. But it’s not that, I mean clearly it’s not that, guys. Can you not see it? If Lucian shaves and starts using whatever haircare stuff you’re using, Aro? You’d be identical.”

“I’m not going to shave,” Lucian says, as if that’s the fucking point.

“No, don’t,” Aro agrees, “you know, it took from 1248 to 1413 for him to grow into it. It would be a waste to let that go.”

“Hey,” Lucian says, “I’ll have you know it has looked good since 1253 at the latest.”

“You say that, but you know I know better, draga lup.”

Peter isn’t entirely sure how the two of them went from teasing each other to straight up flirting in less than five sentences, but he doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like how much better Aro clearly knows Lucian, though of course, after centuries, how could that not be the case? He takes a deep swig of his beer, and when he looks back up the two of them are looking at each other fondly. Fuck. Fuck.

Look. They’re old friends as well as old lovers. He gets that. But it still really fucking hurts to look at, so he does what anyone would do. At least anyone like him. He fakes getting a phone call, badly. But these guys are fucking ancient, so he assumes they don’t notice. And he stops by the bare, picking up two more bottles before locking himself in the bedroom. The loud music may lower the believability of being on the phone, but fuck it. Peter’s anger has always been demonstrative and loud. Too late to change now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry I didn't manage to get up a new chapter yesterday. Annoyed at losing my 11 day streak of daily updates, but there was just a lot of stuff to do :(


	13. 1595: Affection in Athens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aro takes Lucian to see his homeland

It is 1595 and they are sat on the edge of the Parthenon, looking out over the city of Athens. It is nearly a century still until the Acropolis as a whole will be partially destroyed, and when that happens Aro will be glad he managed to show it to Lucian before that happened.

"There have been temples here for all my life," Aro says.

"Not these ones, but temples all the same. It feels a sort of constant when the world changes around me."

Lucian knows he is here because Aro wants to show him his home, but he can't keep his eyes off the vampire. Dawn is just about to break, and as if in anticipation his skin already shines. He has a cloak, currently pooled around them on the ancient marble, for getting back to their temporary quarters without being seen.

Aro points out the different temples, to Nike, Athena, Zeus, Asclepius and more names Lucian can't remember. He tells Lucian their stories, the tales of the gods he believed in when he was human. Long before the christ came to this part of Europe. Lucian doesn't understand religion, not really. It is not the sort of thing they bother with in vampire castles, but he wonders, sometimes, what his mother had believed before she was bitten. 

Lucian looks where Aro indicates, at the old buildings, and the parts of the city he points out, but his gaze creeps back up to Aro's face eventually, at the way the light of the moon (two thirds of the way full) illuminates his elegant features, his crimson eyes nearly black, like old blood.

Aro tells him a story of the first werewolf, as he learned it. King Lycaon, who fed Zeus one of his own children, and as punishment was transformed into a wolf. Lucian takes the expected amount of offence. 

"It's not a punishment," he argues heatedly, because that realisation has taken him centuries of his life to accept.

Later he will say it's very Shakespearian, but though Titus Andronicus has just recently been written, it is another twenty years before Aro will bring him to London and take him to see a play at the Globe, which won't even be built for another four years.

"I know, sweet wolf, I know," Aro promises, and strokes cool fingers against Lucian's cheek.

"And we do not eat our children."

"I know. You are a good man, Lucian, I have never doubted this."

And that's rather sweet, even if good isn't the virtue most important to Aro. But that's easy not to think about. It's easy to focus on what Aro is like with Lucian, and simply to choose to assume this is also how he is with everyone else. However much Lucian knows this to be false.

"It may please you to know, then, the tale of the founding of Rome. There were two brothers, Remus and Romulus, who were abandoned at birth," Aro begins.

"Why do you think I hate human children and delight in their misery?" Lucian demands, only mostly joking.

"I don't, my sweet, I don't," Aro promises with a laugh.

"But the children, they are taken in and raised by a she-wolf, and from there, although I admit, there were further developments, but essentially they went on to found the city, and just with some light fratricide."

"Humans do so love killing each other," Lucian says with a sigh.

"They do," Aro agrees.

"But that is a rather revered wolf. She is part of the symbol of Rome, you know. Statues in her honour everywhere."

"That is something," Lucian agrees.

"The humans are not too fond of wolves, that is true. I shall have to be extra fond of you, I think, to make up for it," Aro says with that little smile of his.

"Oh, I agree, I do think that will be necessary," Lucian tells him, and leans in to press a kiss to a perfect pale cheek, icy cold in the pre dawn air.

"Are you not cold?" Lucian adds, "your skin feels as cool as the marble here."

Aro shrugs.

"I can feel that it is cold, but it has not bothered me for millennia."

"So you will not be needing me to keep you warm?" Lucian asks, with a hint of a smile.

"I suppose it could not hurt, to be warm," Aro replies, and lets Lucian put an arm around him, pulling him close.

The pink and orange is bleeding into the sky, and as the sun creeps over the horizon, Aro starts to light up. It still scares Lucian, every time, letting the sun shine on his vampire lover, but he knows it will be safe. He tries to focus on the beauty of him, sparkling like a crystal, on not remembering the sight of Sonja burning. It is hard.

"It will be fine," Aro promises.

He hasn't read Lucian's mind, not today, but he knows him well enough to know he fears the sun, and what it could do to Aro. Lucian pulls him a little tighter, as if wrapping him in his arms would be the thing to save him, and Aro allows it.

"I know," Lucian replies, and if his eyes are watering then he blames the brightness of the sun, of Aro.

And it is truly stunning to see his lover as such a beacon of light, to see him more radiant than any gem, his eyes a bright crimson now, lit up is if from within. His hair and clothing remain matte, but his hands and face sparkle like a star come down to walk the Earth, to bring heavenly beauty down to mere immortals. Lucian imagines this must be what the goddess of the dawn, of whom Aro told him earlier, must look like.

He leans in to press a kiss to Aro's cheek, and it is odd that it feels just the same, as if he hasn't become luminosity incarnate. 

"The theory among us," Aro tells him, smiling indulgently, "is that it is to attract prey."

"The shimmering?" Lucian asks.

Aro nods.

"Am I your prey, then? Because it is certainly drawing me in."

"Only, I think,if you wish to be."

And Lucian does, he so very badly does, he longs for the feeling of those sharp fangs scraping along his neck. For those cool and crystalline lips against his, the cold shock of having Aro inside him. It must show in his eyes, because Aro pulls him into a deep kiss, his dark hair falling across their faces, and in the shade his skin could almost look human again. It is soft beneath Lucian's fingers. But Aro pulls back, far too quickly for Lucian's liking.

"Let us do this in my rooms," the vampire suggests gently, "I am rather visible from afar in this state, and would not like for any humans to happen upon us like this."

Reluctantly Lucian agrees, and he watches as Aro covers himself, cloth draped around him to keep him entirely hidden. He follows him down the ancient stone stairs, the old route for religious processions, beneath the cypresses in which birds are starting to sing their morning melodies. Skinny cats watch the two of them from their perches upon broken columns, recognising the scent of them as a predator far more dangerous than any human. Yellow and green slitted eyes follow them as they make their way down to the city, and one or two fat dogs look up from their early morning doze to watch them carefully. True wolves are not afraid of lycans, recognising them perhaps, as distant kin, but most other animals are weary, frightened.

Their rooms, Aro's rooms, in which Lucian is a guest, is in an old building not too far from the Acropolis, one of the temples on the hill still visible from a stone veranda. Aro has little business in Athens any more, but he keeps a home here still. To always be able to return, he claims. Lucian can understand that, though he himself can no longer return to Castle Corvinus. He thinks that one day he would like to. When the vampires have been driven out.

Aro has servants here, as everywhere else, but he has read Lucian's mind, talked to him often enough that he treats those servants well, whether vampires or humans. At least he does so when he knows Lucian will be there. Lucian chooses to believe he always does, though this is unlikely to be true.

He doesn't mind, per se, that Aro feeds on humans. That is what they are made to do, vampires, though he has some distaste for it, given his own upbringing among vampires who fed almost exclusively on animal blood. He himself has fed on a human twice, and though the taste was, undeniably, good, it felt wrong to eat a creature so much like a lycan. Well, and, presumably, every time Aro has offered him blood. But that's just accepting hospitality.

Aro insists Lucian try the local foods, mainly, it appears, because he himself misses it. The retsina is a no, the olives a yes.

"I can taste, still," Aro explains, "but I quickly learnt that this body is not built to consume anything but blood."

"That seems a small price to pay for immortality?"

Aro nods.

"It is. But still I miss it. The aroma of it, I suppose, is something. The scent of home."

"I think I can understand," Lucian offers, though he has never had any humanity to lose.

Well, that's not entirely true. He spent some time as a human before his mother was bitten, but that doesn't count, not really. There is very little of his early years he misses. Other than Sonja, always.

He lays a hand over Aro's, the Volturi ring he still wears glinting in the light of a candle. The windows are all covered up, no sun permitted through. Aro's skin remains luminous, however, and pale as the full moon. He is beautiful in any light.

They make love in the late morning, in a darkened room. The bed is wide and soft, a step down for Aro, but luxury compared to what Lucian is used to. He used to wonder why Aro always had beds, despite his inability to sleep, but he has started to appreciate it now. It is the most comfortable for these carnal acts, and it allows Lucian to fall asleep next to Aro, while he reads or works or dwells on his infinitely long life.

It is Lucian who presses himself into Aro this time, the vampire's body cool around him, warmed up a little by Lucian's oil-slick fingers. Who takes his time, tries to find the best possible way to please this vampire lord who is so very good to him. He takes pride in it, bringing Aro pleasure. He took pride in bringing Sonja pleasure too, though that was different. More frequent practise, for one. Different technique for another.

Lucian delights in wringing pleased noises from Aro, in making him hold Lucian close, begging him for anything, for more. In making him lose himself in it enough that soon he starts begging for more in Greek, and though Lucian doesn't understand the words, the intent remains clear.

"Agapité mou lýko," Aro says as they lie spent and sated and wrapped in each others' arms.

My dear wolf. He has said it enough that Lucian recognizes it. It is rapidly becoming a phrase he knows in many languages.

Lucian rests his head on Aro's chest, and now the skin there is almost warm, though that is all his own accomplishment. The vampire is so like one of the marble statues now, skin pale and smooth, the texture almost like a rock, though it remains soft to the touch. No heart beats within him, but it rises and falls with his breathing, and rhythm of it soothes Lucian.

He wakes in the early evening, and now his head rests in Aro's lap, one hand petting softly through his hair, which it feels just a little bit like the vampire has attempted to untangle. A futile task. It is doomed, Lucian thinks, to remain a shaggy and untamed mane. Wolves are not well groomed dogs. Lucian tugs the heavy blanket up around his shoulders. He isn't cold, it takes a lot for lycans to freeze, but there is a sense of comfort in it.

"Sleep well?" Aro asks, though he doesn't look away from his book.

"Yes. You are very comfortable."

"Glad to be of service," Aro tells him, and Lucian can hear the smile in his voice.

Their time together here is coming to an end. It saddens Lucian, although he is anxious to check on his pack, make sure they are all right. But he does so enjoy his time with Aro.

"I'm going to miss you," he tells the vampire lord.

"And I you, my sweet wolf."

Sometimes he wants to shed his power, to hand the responsibility for his pack over to someone else, so he can be free of worries, but he doesn't think he could ever truly leave them. Not permanently. But he has seriously considered whether they could relocate to somewhere slightly closer to Volterra. There are mountains around Tuscany, surely? But perhaps Aro likes to keep him at a distance. Prefers to see him only when it is convenient, when he has time. Or else he truly is ashamed to keep a lycan lover. A werewolf, to anyone else. A beast he takes to bed. But no, no that is not it. Aro doesn't seem the kind of man to feel shame for something like this. Possibly he keeps Lucian a secret from his fellow Volturi, but only, Lucian imagines, for political reasons.

Lucian wonders whether he loves Aro. He thinks he does, sometimes, though he is not entirely sure whether he has ever been _in_ love with him. It is difficult to say when they meet so seldom and sporadically. But the vampire holds an important place in his heart and in his life, and they have known each other pretty well, especially the last century. Aro would know, though, would know better than he himself does. There is a comfort in that. In being known fully and truly, and being accepted and sought after anyway.

Lucian shrugs the blanket off, sitting up next to Aro. The book he is reading is in Greek, which Lucian still cannot read at a glance. He puts it away, though, turning to face Lucian. When Lucian caresses his cheek, he leans into it, soft red eyes closing. Lucian feels that faint tugging sensation again, which heralds Aro's reading his thoughts, and he regrets his musings a moment earlier.

"Do not regret your feelings, my sweet wolf," Aro tells him, "they are returned."

Lucian's eyes widen.

"Truly?"

Aro pulls him into a kiss, his cool tongue slipping into Lucian's mouth, his sharp fangs, always present, sharp points against his bottom lip. A hand on the back of his head holding him close, and Lucian almost wonders whether it is a distraction from his question.

"Truly," Aro confirms a moment later, placing a last kiss on Lucian's reddened lips.

They are due to travel back to their respective strongholds later tonight, and this is the most reassuring thing Aro could have told him. Lucian lets himself sink down again, staring up at the stone ceiling, his hair fanned out around him. Aro's hand resting on his shoulder. He is content. He is happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work has been requiring me to actually do my job and not just fuck around writing fanfiction, which is terrible anyway that's my excuse  
> Also the best part of Athens today is all the very fat dogs and skinny cats hanging around the ruins waiting to be petted, and so I can only assume that was still the best part in 1595.  
> As opposed to with Romanian or Latin and all the other languages I butcher I can barely even decipher the Greek alphabet, so my apologies for that 😬


	14. 2012: Getting to Know Each Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know, biblically ;)

They stumble into Peter’s flat at three in the morning. They are, Lucian thinks, quite drunk. It’s been some time since he was able to drink so much that it actually significantly impacted his motor functions, Lucian thinks as he crashes into the door frame instead of going through the door. Peter is further gone, obviously, being human and having a much weaker constitution, but he is an experienced drinker, that much is clear.

The flat is huge, and on the top floor of the building, wide windows looking out across the city. The aesthetics of the place is about what you’d expect after seeing Peter’s show, which Lucian has now done. Hence the two of them. A wall is painted with decorative spooky branches, and much of the furniture looks like it’s taken from a cheesy vampire movie. The style is a little bit that of someone who has suddenly come into quite a lot of money and doesn’t quite know what to do with it other than delight in it and make bad purchasing decisions. Which, as far as Lucian knows Peter, is pretty much the case.

“Drink?” Peter asks, but Lucian shakes his head no, and oh, that’s not a good choice.

The room spins gently back and forth, and suddenly there are two of Peter, pouring double glasses of something green that smells sickly sweet.

“Been a while since I had quite so much,” Lucian tells him.

Peter shrugs and downs more of the mysterious drink. Lucian wanders back out into the hall where the weapons are displayed. Peter follows him, pointing out pieces he’s particularly proud of. Most of them aren’t real, of course, won’t do anything against a proper vampire, but Lucian hasn’t told him yet. There is a lot he hasn’t told him, and he isn’t sure whether he ever will.

“’N this, this is good, this is a…” Peter says, trailing off, gesturing vaguely at one of the glass cases.

“Gun?”

“Yes! Gun. Uh. Silver gun. No. Silver bullets! Silver bullets, they are. For… for big, you know. Big woof monsters,” Peter explains, making some gesture with his hands to demonstrate his vague idea.

“Werewolves?” suggests Lucian, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that’s not only too many shots.

“Them! Yeah. Big wolf lads. Moon people.”

Peter is grinning, seeming happy, and if Lucian didn’t know better, if he wasn’t one, well, he might have agreed. But Peter doesn’t know about any of that yet, so he forces a smile.

“You think werewolves are real?” he asks, “you seen any?”

“Nah,” Peter says, “not yet. But if blood- if the- the blood guys- if vampires are real, stands to reason, doesn’t it? Weird if only one monster turned out to be real.”

“Not- not sure I agree,” counters Lucian, “drinking blood’s one thing, but turning into a wolf? Seems unlikely.”

Peter shrugs, downs his drink, setting it down on top of one of the glass cases, and crowds Lucian against the wall. He presses his lips to Lucian’s in a poorly coordinated yet still wonderful kiss, and Lucian responds in kind. He can smell Peter’s arousal, hear the way his heart is beating, feel him grind himself against Lucian. Once more Lucian wonders whether this is truly a good idea, and once more he decides that fuck it. Peter is hot, Peter wants him, Lucian wants Peter right back. Just got to be careful about his eyes and teeth, be careful to seem entirely human. He can do that. Right?

“Bed?” he suggests, when Peter pulls back to kiss down his neck.

He is tugged by his arm into a large bedroom. Most of the space is taken up by a truly enormous bed, far larger than anyone could possibly need. There is a mirror mounted on the ceiling above it, and Lucian wonders whether it’s more because Peter likes to watch himself or to be sure no one he brings to bed are vampires. Not that most of them don’t show up in mirrors.

Opposite the bed is a vast television screen, and one corner of the wall has a series of what seem to be drawings and paintings of Peter done with highly varying degrees of skill. Perhaps gifts from fans of his show? Or a journey of learning self portraiture.

“C’mere,” Peter instructs, and Lucian is helpless but to obey.

He lets Peter push him back onto the bed and set about unbuttoning his shirt. Smiles fondly at him as Peter complains and asks why he can’t just wear a t-shirt like a normal human being, oblivious of the irony of his statement. Lucian shrugs in reply, further sabotaging Peter’s task. Finally, though, he uncovers Lucian’s chest and begins to plant a line of kisses down it. Lucian pets through Peter’s hair, sighing happily. It has been a while since anyone has touched him like this.

“You’re very hot,” Peter informs him from just north of his trousers.

“Uh, thanks,” Lucian replies, “you too?”

He cringes inwardly, it has been a very long time, clearly. And how one talks about these things have changed some since last he thought he had grasped it (1615). Peter looks up at him.

“Thanks, but I meant like. Your skin is so hot? Feels like you’ve got a fever or something.”

“Oh. Err.”

Lucian had forgotten that bit. Humans running a couple of degrees cooler than lycans.

“It’s fine, always have been a little hotter than average,” he says, and tries to play it off like a joke, which must work as Peter snorts with laughter and starts to unbuckle his belt.

Lucian props himself up on an elbow and shrugs out of his shirt, watching as Peter pulls off the last of his clothes, pausing to look appreciatively at Lucian’s cock. Which is nice. It feels nice to be appreciated. Peter, however, unfairly, is still clothed. So Lucian gets up, only slightly unsteadily, closing the distance between them and pulling Peter into a kiss, before tugging his tank top up and off. He leans in to kiss his neck, just a faint scrape of obediently blunt and flat human teeth. Feels Peter press against him, trapping Lucian’s cock between them, the pressure sweet and entirely insufficient at the same time.

Lucian sinks down to his knees before Peter, and starts to open his absurdly tight leather trousers, but Peter puts a hand over his. Lucian looks up at him, confused.

“Err,” says Peter, looking mildly uncomfortable.

“Is something wrong?” Lucian asks, pressing a kiss to his hand.

“’S just. Listen. You know I’m trans, right?”

“Yes?” Lucian says, “you took your shirt off three times at the bar.”

He reaches up to stroke a finger along a pale scar. Doesn’t mention that he has known since the first time they met. Looks up into big dark eyes watching him.

“Right. Well, you wouldn’t believe how dense some people get when they’re drunk. Just making sure you’re not in for an unpleasant surprise.”

“I’m not sure anything could be unpleasant about you,” Lucian tells him, pressing another kiss to Peter’s hand and gently moving it out of the way.

“Err,” says Peter, his heart racing just a bit faster as Lucian tugs his just incredibly tight and seemingly impractical trousers down.

Lucian leans in to lick at his clit, which earns him Peter’s hand in his hair, holding him close. He places one hand on Peter’s hip, slips two fingers into Peter with his other. Listens to Peter’s soft groan of pleasure. He sucks at his clit, twists his fingers just so, hitting that one spot he seems to remember got very pleased moans out of Sonja. Apparently it’s a hit, because Peter’s nails dig into his scalp.

“Lucian,” Peter implores, and Lucian does his best to deliver, thrustijg his fingers into him, doing complicated motions with his tongue.

“Fuck,” Peter adds or suggests, and Lucian heartily agrees, though his mouth is too occupied currently, to reply.

A moment later, Peter wriggles out of Lucian’s grasp. Lucian watches as he spends a solid minute wrestling himself out of his trousers, impeded by alcohol and arousal and Lucian ducking in to kiss any available skin. He pushes Lucian down on his back onto the bed again. The sheets are silky and almost too smooth, but feel good against skin. Peter frowns, digging through first his pockets, then the drawers of his night stand, and then finally under the bed, triumphantly holding a little plastic square.

He adjusts Lucian until he is reclined on the bed to Peter’s liking, then settles between his legs. Breaks open the little packet.

“No offence,” he says as he unrolls it, threading the condom onto Lucian as he watches, “been a while since I got tested, is all.”

Lucian doesn’t point out that he is incapable of contracting an STI, no point in sabotaging a good habit. He strokes his hand down Peter’s thighs, looking up at Peter. He is beautiful in the dim light shining in from the other room. His hair messy, but genuinely so rather than the artful mess he strives for. Brown eyes dark with desire. He’s all angles, Peter, in a way that could look gangly on anyone else, but is almost elegant on him. At least it is when he’s slightly less inebriated than now.

Lucian’s head spins gently. Peter positions him just right, then sinks slowly down, enveloping Lucian in his wet heat. He places his hands on Lucian’s chest, eyes closed, taking a moment to breathe. He feels so terribly, perfectly good around Lucian, and although Peter is on top Lucian has to struggle not to move.

“Ah, oh fuck,” Peter says.

He starts to move, gently at first, slow rolls of his hips, and it feels divine. Lucian reaches down between them to touch his clit, letting Peter’ movements do most of the work, but the human doesn’t seem to mind. His eyes are closed, his head thrown back as he fucks himself on Lucian’s cock. His face has just the slightest flush, his thighs are tense on either side of Lucian’s, his fingers dig into Lucian’s skin. 

“You feel so good,” he tells Peter.

It feels inadequate, but though he is starting to feel the effects of the alcohol lessen already, he can’t think of anything that better expresses how he feels. Peter responds by speeding up, breathing more heavily, bouncing up up and down. 

It is not, in the end, terribly long before Lucian comes, eyes closed, an impulse to growl turned into a moan. It has been quite a while since he was with a human, and keeping up the appearance is taking quite some conscious effort. It takes Peter a little while longer, and Lucian feels a little bad about that, hopes he will be given a chance to make it up to him later.

Peter climbs off him, collapsing in a heap of limbs next to Lucian, seeming very pleased with himself. Lucian pulls off the condom, tying it off and tossing it into a bin seemingly placed in the room for that very purpose. Gets back on the bed. He wonders for a moment whether he should hold Peter or leave him be, doesn’t know his preferences, but he doesn’t have to, because Peter stretches, cat-like, and curls around him.

-

Lucian wakes up in the early afternoon to sun streaming in through the window. Peter has hidden beneath a pile of sheets, but his breathing and heart rate indicates he’s fast asleep. Lucian watches the legs sticking out at seemingly incompatible angles with a fond smile.

They haven't known each other long, not really. But they have gone on a few hunts together now, and last night Lucian had gone to see Peter’s show, and offered to give him some constructive feeback on the factual inconsistencies in it. Peter had graciously told him to fuck off and invited him out drinking instead. And there had been... a lot of drinking. And then there had been finding a private booth in the back of the bar and making out for a while, and then more drinking. And eventually, when the bartender suggested that they had, perhaps had enough and Peter yelled at her for five full minutes and then fell down, the slow and shambling walk back to Peter’s place.

They hadn’t done anything like that up until this point, but Lucian had known for a little while that Peter was interested in him. Partly this was made easy by his supernatural sense, but it also helped that Peter blatantly flirted with him. There had been jokes about being penetrated by stakes a few more times than could be easily passed off as just bad humour, and, well, Lucian was quite into Peter right back So when the human had invited him to see his show, Lucian had suspected the evening might lead them here.

Lucian places a soft kiss onto an exposed wrist, and gets off the bed. He spends some time wandering the penthouse, taking the liberty of making himself a coffee when he stumbles across a kitchen placed almost like an afterthought behind a room which seems to be some sort of home cinema setup and a second bathroom, which seems entirely superfluous. Most of the things in this flat seem to be.

When hears movement, followed by a soft groan, Lucian returns to the bedroom, bringing a bottle of water, another cup of coffee and some painkillers he found in the bathroom. At the sound of his arrival, a corner of the pile of sheets and pillows in the centre of the bed lifts, and Peter peeks out.

“You’re still here,” Peter points out.

He doesn’t sound disappointed, which Lucian supposes must be good.

“You didn’t tell me to leave,” Lucian says, setting his offerings down on the nighstand crowded with sticky glasses of evaporated booze.

“Right,” Peter mutters, squinting up at him in the bright light.

“Do you want me to?” Lucian offers.

“No,” Peter says, “no, course not. Just used to people having fucked off by the time I wake up.”

“Perhaps,” suggests Lucian, “they do not want to deal with their hungover host.”

Peter makes an incomprehensible noise, and gestures at the painkillers, and Lucian hands them and the water to him. He sits on the edge of the bed, watching Peter swallow them down and then emerging far enough from the blankets to grab the cup of coffee, sitting up.

“Thanks,” he mumbles between sips of hot caffeine, his eyes gradually opening properly, his scowl slowly melting away.

Lucian gives him time, drinking his coffee at a more leisurely pace, letting Peter have some time to wake up.

“Did... uh. Did we bang last night?” Peter asks, avoiding Lucian’s eyes, clearly a little embarrassed. 

“We did,” Lucian confirms, reasonably certain he has correctly identified the meaning of this expression. 

“Right,” says Peter, “okay. Good? I mean, was it?”

“Well, I had a very good time, and you certainly seemed to enjoy yourself as well.”

“Cool,” Peter says, “good. Not to imply you’re not memorable, my head's just a bit... woozy.”

“Yes, you made a valiant attempt at drinking the bar dry last night,” Lucian teases.

“Piss off,” Peter says, then, “hey, how come you’re not hungover?”

“Drank some water,” Lucian lies, knowing a human probably would not feel completely fine.

He is grateful, often, for his lycan constitution. Peter watches him with skepticism, but eventually shrugs, downing his coffee and collapsing back onto his pillow nest. He makes a motion at Lucian, encouraging him to lay down next to him. So Lucian does, though he is dressed now, resting his head on Peter’s chest.

“This okay?” he asks.

Peter makes a noise in response, the meaning of which is unclear to Lucian, but Peter’s hand strokes through Lucian’s hair, so he assumes that is a yes.

“You never briushed your hair in your life?” Peter asks.

“No,” Lucian says.

“Idiot.”

“Regret bringing me home?”

“Not a chance. Stay while I take a nap?”

“I will,” Lucian promises.

He listens to Peter’s heartbeat as he drifts off, his hand tracing over the thin, curved scar on his chest. He thinks he could really like spending time with Peter like this too, not just hunting. Thinks that he might really like this faintly ridiculous human. But he is human, that is the thing, isn’t it? He is human and he hates monsters, and thought it has been centuries since Lucian has thought of himself as such, he has no doubt that Peter will. It is a risk, certainly, and not something that can be hidden or avoided forever. Though Lucian isn’t sure whether the hunting or the bed sharing poses a greater risk of discovery. He wonders whether he is ready for that risk, that inevitable confrontation. Whether he would rather it happen sooner or later. Whether Peter will forgive him or attempt to kill him.


	15. 2014: The Importance of Mental Health Behaviour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter goes to therapy

“How have you been?” she asks, “you missed our last two sessions. Your text mentioned your life being-"

“Real fucked up right now, yeah,” Peter interrupts.

He’s sitting across from his therapist, crunched up in the low armchair, arms wrapped around himself, hood pulled over his face. Partly he’s a bit hungover, partly it’s a _defence mechanism_ or whatever.

“Okay,” she says, voice so calm and understanding it grates against his nerves, “do you want to tell me what’s been going on to make you feel that way.”

“Uh. Sure,” he says, biting back a sarcastic comment.

He’s been trying to be better about not making those. Not too much, anyway.

“Right,” he starts, stalling as he tries to work out a meaningful way to translate the events of the last few weeks into something mundane enough he won’t be put away or told he’s hallucinating.

“So I’ve mentioned my boyfriend, yeah?”

“Repeatedly,” she assures him with a hint of a smile, “how long is it you to have been together now? A year?”

“And three quarters,” Peter corrects, and his chest feels warm at the thought.

Which was her intention, wasn’t it? Sneaky bastard.

“But yeah, him. I asked him to move in, I talked to you about that, yeah? Couple of months ago.”

“And how is that going?”

“Brilliant, perfect. I mean by that time he was staying over six nights out of every seven anyway, so, y'know, smooth transition. He keeps trying to carefully suggest that every piece of furniture doesn’t need to look like it’s taken off the set of a Dracula film, but nobody’s perfect. He’s pretty close, though.”

He pauses, spends a few moments fiddling with a loose thread in the sleeve of his hoodie.

“But?” she asks carefully after a bit.

“But he’s done this one thing. Which is kind of shitty. Or it’s not, he’s done it cause he’s too fucking nice, that’s the thing. Makes it really fucking hard to be angry at him.”

He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. It’s getting longer, now, hanging limply and almost too long to style effectively. He kind of hates it, but kind of wants to see what he’d look like with his own long hair, not just the wig he uses for his show. It hasn't been properly long since he was eighteen, and that was. Well. That's for a different therapy session.

“Are you? Angry, I mean?”

“A bit. Sometimes. But not so much at him. See, thing is, there’s this guy, right. Like rich and fancy and from some big important rich people family in Italy. And he... I told you about Lucian’s past, yeah? Grew up in creepy culty situation, fell in love with cult leader’s daughter. Gets her pregnant, cult leader daddy finds out, kills her, he barely escapes with his life. Anyway, so he met rich Italian dude just after, while he was homeless. And this guy, for no obvious reason is like here, I’ve got a house sitting empty. Stay there as long as you like. Just owe me an unspecified favour later. And my boy says yes, obviously, good offer. And he gets to stay there for years, no rent or anything.”

“That’s very generous,” she tells him.

“Right? Like suspiciously so, right? And then sometimes the guy would like summon him to visit, in all different places across southern Europe, like some kind of weird sugar daddy. But Lucian, he sort of falls for him? And even though rich dude’s got a wife, they keep meeting and hooking up a couple times a year, but it’s like years since they saw each other last when I met Lucian, and he only brought it up a little while ago.”

“And it bothers you?”

“Him having a weird sugar daddy ex? Nah. Wouldn’t have said no to something like that when I was in my twenties, seems a sweet deal, y'know. But. But. Couple weeks ago, this guy shows up, right? Here in Vegas, and he’s all oh woe is me, most of my family who I don’t care about is dead. Which yeah, whatever, sad. And he’s all cut off, right, can’t get home to Italy, can’t access any of his funds or anything. Nearly got killed himself. I kind of suspect it’s some kind of Tuscan mafia situation if I’m honest. And so he asks Lucian for the return favour. Shelter. Only, as I said, Lucian lives in my flat now, so that’s the only place he’s got to offer.”

“And you accepted?”

“I did,” Peter agrees with a groan.

“Do you regret it?” 

“Every time I lay eyes on the fucker. But I get that Lucian feels he’s got no choice, feels this is the least he can do to repay this guy, right, and I can tell he’s happy to hang out with him again, but the dude’s just... a dick. Keeps only talking to Lucian in Romanian or Italian or something so I won’t understand. Keeps criticising my place cause it’s not a fucking Baroque palace or whatever. And I don’t think he respects that it’s over between him and Lucian. Keeps flirting with him, blatantly, while I’m there, and I can... I can sort of tell that Lucian doesn’t mind, other than being uncomfortable that it’s happening when I’m there.”

He closes his eyes and rests his head against his knees.

“I can understand why that’s a very stressful situation for you,” he hears his therapist say.

Fuck what’s her name. He should know this, been going to her for nearly a year. He lifts his head to squint at her desk, glancing at the little sign with her name and degree. April. Sounds faintly familiar. He’s about 80% sure she saw him look over at it.

“Have you talked to them about this?” she asks.

“Yes. No. Sort of? I’ve tried but the guy is just fucking infuriating and I get angry and upset and it’s just... it’s really uncomfortable.”

“All right. Have you talked to just Lucian about it?”

Peter shrugs helplessly.

“A bit. And I think he knows how I feel, but... I know this is important for him, you know?”

“And you don’t want to upset him?”

“Never.”

“That’s admirable, Peter, but it’s important you take care of your own feelings as well.”

“’M here, aren’t I?”

“You are, and that’s an important first step. But you have to talk to Lucian, all right? When the other man is out, perhaps? Or take Lucian out, whatever is easiest. And tell him how you’re feeling about it. Without alcohol.”

“Killjoy.”

“That’s my job.”

He grimaces at her but she just looks amused.

“So we agree, yes? Before next time you have to talk to him. You don’t have to work out any solutions or take any action, but you need to let him know how you feel. And be here next week too, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, feeling like a disappointing teenager again.

“And take your meds.”

“Yes.”

“Without alcohol.”

“Sure.”

This, of course, is a lie. And she knows it too, but doesn’t point it out, thankfully.

-

Two days later Peter and Lucian are sitting in a brightly lit café. It’s the middle of the day, the sun shining brightly in. Extremely low chances of vampire interference, even if it means Peter had to wake up at noon. Their table is small, just in the corner by the window, far enough from the others not to be easily overheard. Peter yawns into his quadruple shot iced latte.

“You wanted to talk?” Lucian says eventually when Peter makes no move to do anything but load up on caffeine.

It’s nice seeing him in the light of day, nice being seen with him. He has pulled his hair back partially, so it doesn’t obscure his face. He’s got a shirt on with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, over a black t-shirt, his arms resting on the table either side of a cup of black coffee because he has yet to understand the wonders of making your caffeine actually taste good.

“I did,” Peter admits, watching him through vast and impenetrable sunglasses chosen to both obscure and enhance his fame.

“About?” Lucian gently prods, placing a hand over Peter’s.

“About this whole… This whole situation, right.”

“Ah,” Lucian says, suddenly seeming quite interested in whatever is going on outside the window.

“About Aro.”

“I see.”

He seems determined not to say anything, and Peter supposes it must be a strange and somewhat uncomfortable situation for him too.

“Right. So. I’m going to… To tell you how I feel about this situation, okay? And not just let it sort of fester as vague resentment because apparently that’s not great for relationships.”

“These aren’t your words, are they?” Lucian asks with a hint of a smile.

“Absolutely not, this is therapy homework.”

“All right, then, my love, tell me how you feel.”

Peter takes a deep breath. Looks into kind eyes reflecting the early afternoon sunlight. Exhales slowly.

“I really fucking hate this situation.”

Pause. Lucian looks like he’s about to say something, so Peter steamrolls onwards.

“I know. I know that he’s been a huge part of your life, right, and that you loved him, and that you feel like you owe him this. And I know I agreed to it, and I’m not gonna… I don’t think he’d let me kick him out, to be honest. But I fucking hate it. I hate having this ancient asshole living in my flat, but that’s, I think, secondary.”

“It is?”

“The thing I really hate is just… It’s how he clearly still loves you, how much history you guys have, and I know I could never compare, quite literally it’s not possible for me to compete with that, not ever. But it still hurts, you know? To feel him looking at me going what’s happened to my boy Lucian that he’s got such shitty taste in guys these days.”

“He’s not sa-”

“Doesn’t really matter what he’s saying, Lucian, ‘cause the essence of it is there anyway. He doesn’t respect me or the fact we’re together now. And I know you guys were always just sort of on again off again given the nature of your… your whole deal, and I know there hasn’t been like any kind of clean break, and that it’s got to be difficult for him to understand that you’re choosing some unimportant mortal but-”

“Peter,” Lucian interrupts him, with such intensity that Peter sits back, and almost doesn’t notice when Lucian takes his hands in his own, “don’t say that. You’re not unimportant, you could never be.”

Peter looks down, looks away for a moment, even protected by his shades as he is. Feels Lucian squeeze his hands, but also feels the metal of Aro’s ring digging into his palm.

“I have explained to him the situation,” Lucian says, “that I am with you now, and he seemed to understand it at the time, even if I realise he isn’t, perhaps, happy about it. But I will talk to him again.”

“I… I appreciate that,” Peter tells him, “I do. And I know this is all… It’s people having feelings and it’s not press-of-a-button fixable, but I just… I needed to tell you, I think. Hate that. Hate my therapist being right. Gross.”

“Is that not why you see her?”

Peter groans, and nods, and drinks more of his cooling coffee. Listens to the sound of indistinct conversations around them, the clink of silverware against ceramic and glass, the steam valve sound of whatever those coffee machines do. Lucian watches him all the while, his face the picture of infinite patience. Perhaps it is easier, being patient, when you are so very old.

“I am sorry,” Lucian begins, “that I did not consider you more. It simply… happened fast. One minute I thought Aro dead, and the very next he was asking me for something in return after centuries of doing so much for me.”

“I know,” Peter promises, “I know. Your problem is you’re too fucking nice, and you seem mainly to date assholes.”

“He’s not-” Lucian starts to protest, but Peter interrupts him.

“Including myself in that category, by the way.”

“ _You’re not-_ ” Lucian attempts again, once more futile.

“I am, though. I don’t necessarily want to be, but I’m not making much of an effort not to be, if I’m honest.”

“You absolutely are not,” Lucian argues, managing at last to get to the end of a sentence and seeming unclear on what to do now he’s got there.

“Well, not to you, hopefully. I do try not to be. But to others, certainly. ‘M known as a bit of a shit person to work with, and if I’m honest they’re probably not wrong. I’ve had three assistants quit on me in the last year. I’m not a nice person, Lucian.” 

Lucian looks heartbroken, and oddly guilty, and Peter doesn’t get it at all.

“What?” he demands.

“I’m so sorry that’s how you see yourself,” he says, voice low.

“’S true.”

“It may be, but it is not all of who you are. And more importantly, it is not an inherent part of you. If you wanted to change that, you could.”

Peter looks down at the table, tracing the marble patterned plastic with a finger, black nail-polish chipping off against a crack in the surface. Shame wells up inside him, filling his insides and threatening to burst through the thinly stretched surface of him.

“Don’t know that I want to badly enough,” he admits.

“And yet I will love you anyway,” Lucian tells him.

“Questionable choice,” Peter quips.

Lucian sighs, but there is a hint of fondness there, and Peter wonders how this talk went from being about how much Aro can fuck right off to Peter feeling bad about himself. He blames his therapist. And Aro. He’s not sure how this could possibly be the vampire’s fault but he is not about to let an insignificant detail like that stand in his way.

“Love you too,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper, taking comfort in knowing Lucian will always be able to hear him, however carefully he expresses his love.

“I don’t know how we can make this situation work, but I promise I will try to,” Lucian says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my first long Peter/Lucian fic I have Peter going to therapy a bunch, and between writing that and this I have started going to therapy again (online, socially distanced by the entire atlantic ocean, very safe), and I wonder if that has affected how I write it. Anyway, take care of your brains, that's an expert opinion from your local haver of a selection of anxiety disorders and 170/180s of a psychology degree.


	16. 2014: Preliminary Peace Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucian's off being a fluffy and feral lycan, and Aro and Peter get slash have to spend some quality time together.

Lucian is away, off on some lycan business. Well, off into the wilderness to spend the full moon all furry and ferocious, to be precise, and he hadn’t wanted company. Which is a shame, really. It has been a while since he has allowed Aro to see him like that, not since the late nineteenth century, but Aro respects his wishes, and so, it seems, does Peter.

The mortal is a curiosity. A fake vampire hunter, and a real one. Rich, but devoid entirely of any class. Right now he’s sat across the room from Aro, drinking wine directly from the bottle in a move that might be just to spite him. He is watching something truly dreadful on his massive television screen, some awful Americans who seem more than anything to hate each other, yet they persist in engaging in carnal acts together. Modern humans are baffling.

Aro is here to observe him. He has a book in his hand and a wine glass full of heated pigs blood, but he is watching Peter all the while. He is beginning to thoroughly tire of animal blood, and wishes he had not divulged the fact that his eye colour depends on his diet to Lucian, but the poor dear had seemed worried at the change. He had later expressed some regret at the visuals of it, saying he missed Aro’s crimson eyes. Which makes it all the more frustrating. Aro would seriously consider golden contact lenses if they didn’t dissolve in a few hours.

“You stupid fucking cow, he’s clearly into Sam, not you,” Peter mutters at the television, perhaps forgetting Aro’s excellent hearing, or else not caring.

Aro squints at the screen, where two almost identical blonde, white women are in a debate, while a seemingly uncaring dark hair white man watches. He has done his best not to pay any attention to whatever this is, but the sound is grating.

«Why do you watch this?» he demands of Peter.

Peter looks over at him, takes a long drink from his bottle, almost empty, and shrugs.

«Lucian hates these, so I’m taking the opportunity to catch up while he’s off wolfing out.»

«That’s very considerate of you,» Aro says carefully.

«That’s me, a considerate and clearly superior boyfriend,» Peter replies with a sardonic smile.

«I do not suppose you would be considerate enough to turn it off for my sake as well?» Aro chances.

«Nope,» Peter says with a look of immense satisfaction.

«No, I did not expect you would,» Aro replies with faint resignation.

Peter smiles antagonistically, then turns back to the terrible entertainment which he doesn’t even seem to be enjoying all that much. Aro keeps watching him for a moment, trying to see what Lucian sees in him. He supposes the human has a sort of boyish charm, and a disdain for the wearing of shirts that reminds Aro of Lucian when he was young, still enslaved by the Corvinid vampires. The hair is… unfortunate, but then perhaps the same could be said of Lucian. His sweet wolf, however, pulls it off significantly better. There is something to that rugged, wild look that befits a lycan, but not so much a mortal man who seems as unsuited to combat as Aro looks. His clothes all seem expensive, and well made, but they look as if he had been attacked by a pack of wolves, and not so gentle ones as Lucian, either.

«What? What are you staring at?» Peter demands at last, brows furrowed in irritation, darkly lined eyes narrowed.

«I am simply attempting to see what our dear Lucian sees in you.»

«And? What do you think?»

Peter raises his eyebrows, spreading his arms so the tiny, slinky robe falls away from his chest, showing a thin patch of dark hair. He seems, thankfully, to have gone for boxers rather than one of his small thongs, but still it seems a strange way to dress when one has company, even if that company is not particularly welcome. And look, Aro isn’t blind. He can see that the human has a nice body, though he seems staunchly opposed to at all taking care of it, but surely that cannot be all?

«I cannot say that I understand still, though I can smell your blood from here and it is getting more tempting every minute,» he tells the human, smiling enough to show off sharp fangs.

Peter scowls at him, and drains the remnants of his wine.

This last is true, he does long for the taste of human blood, and right now any would do. And Peter does smell delicious, though he doubts that this is the appeal Lucian sees.

It has been a strange few weeks, staying here. Though a vampire hunter, his host is of course entirely powerless to hurt him, yet still somehow Aro feels vulnerable here. He has none of his usual supporters, no servants, no guards. If the Cullen family were to show up, determined to kill him, they would with their numbers almost certainly be able to overpower him, even with Lucian at his side, doubtlessly ready to defend him with his life. He does not doubt the lycan’s loyalty in the least. Still, they are unlikely to track him here, across the country as he is, hiding somewhere as sunny as possible to throw them off his scent.

He had come here from Washington, travelling down the coast, and had planned to make his way back to Volterra, but his money had run out, and he can’t work out how to access his bank accounts, suspect someone else has control of them. He still can’t reach anyone back home, and it is frustrating. Yes, it is true most of the central members of the Volturi, his dear Sulpicia included, perished in the battle, but they did not leave Volterra unguarded, and it is very unsettling that even now he cannot reach them. It is frustrating too that one cannot simply kill humans to get what one wants these days, at least when one is trying to keep one’s survival hidden from irritatingly observant vegan vampires. And well, if he is entirely honest, he has missed Lucian a great deal these last decades. Especially after he thought him dead for so long.

It was rather a shock, finding him there. Or, well, the scent of him. He had been tracking someone else, but when he found their hideout he recognised the days old scent of his dear wolf. And so he stayed, interrogating the vampire, and getting so terribly lucky that his wolf came in just at the right moment. Well, just after Aro had held him by the throat for ten minutes while Lucian and his human sneaked through the house painfully slowly. But one had to time the death for proper effect.

Staying here is an odd experience indeed. His room is tiny, and the library singularly focused on tomes detailing the different ways of killing a vampire. Which, though almost without exception incorrect, still makes for rather a hostile environment. As, of course, does Peter. It was amusing at first, how much the human clearly despises having Aro there, but lately he has begun to tire of it. Especially as Aro cannot, despite his best attempts, convince Lucian to join him in bed.

«Tell me about him.»

Aro is so deep in thoughts that he has not noticed the human muting the television, and looks up to find Peter staring at him with big brown eyes, empty wine bottle loosely gripped in one hand.

«About Lucian?»

«Who else?»

Aro frowns. What is this, some trick? Or an olive branch offered? And Aro does so miss olives.

«What do you wish to know?»

Peter sighs in something like relief.

«What was he like before? Has he always, y'know, carried the weight of the world on his wolfy shoulders?»

Aro smiles despite himself.

«Not quite so much the first time I met him. He was… how old are you?»

«...Thirty-eight.»

«Well, he must have been about your age, then, perhaps a little younger. Not even halfway through a human lifetime yet. And with few thoughts of revolution, I think, though there was just a hint of defiance in him then, too. It was what drew me to him. That, and, of course, the novelty. He was- is, the first member of a species, that is quite special. And a handsome young wolf, as I’m sure you’ll agree. And entirely besotted with his vampire princess, of course. I thought that was quite charming.»

«Did you ever meet her? Sonja, I mean? Was she as lovely as he describes?»

Peter looks worried, nervous almost. And Aro supposes he can understand. He too knows how deep and intense Lucian’s love for her was, is, remains, and more than likely always will be.

«Once, briefly. She seemed an interesting person. A fierce warrior, yet full of kindness. But we never spoke. I believe the girl was rather intimidated by me.»

Peter makes a face that clearly is meant to convey some sort of insult, but Aro can’t quite decipher which one.

«You do look pretty creepy, makes sense,» the mortal says for added clarification.

«Well, I am a nearly three and a half thousand year old vampire,» Aro reasons, «it would be strange were I not a fearsome sight. Though, obviously, incredibly desirable as well.»

«Weeeell. To other vampires, maybe.»

«And certainly lycans too,» Aro reminds him.

Peter grimaces, then frowns.

«Hold on, three and a half fucking thousand?»

«Well, soon, yes. Three thousand three hundred and fourteen, to be precise.»

«Fuck you’re old,» Peter tells him, with wide eyes, brows knitting together as he tries to comprehend such a number.

«Indeed,» Aro agrees.

«Are you like Lucian’s vampires, or did you, you know, use to be human?»

It is quite the civil conversation they are having, for the first time. Even if Peter does insist on a lot of rather rude expressions beyond what seems necessary. Still, it is a change that Aro is somewhat surprised to realise he likes.

«No, I was human once, much like you. I have, in fact, been human longer than you have, though not by long.»

Peter rises, wandering over to a miniature refrigerator, and grabs two glass bottles. Takes them both with him and sinks back into the sofa. Opens one and takes a long drink of it.

«That’s pretty weird,» he acknowledges.

«That must have been wild. Did you guys even have like, vampire myths, back in… antiquity?»

«We did, though they bore little relation to the reality of my current condition. Vrykolakas. Though they fed on the flesh of humans, rather than the blood."

"What, like zombies?" Peter demands.

Aro raises an eyebrow.

"From what I gather from your human media, those have more, ah, cerebral tastes, have they not?"

This draws a snort of laughter from the human, shortly followed by his features deliberately retreating back into a scowl, though it seems less aggressive than before. Perhaps this is progress.

"But I think those particular ones were more myth than reality."

They are silent for a little while, Peter's eyes back on the television before getting his phone out of his pocket, typing on it for a while. Aro grimaces as he drains his now cooled and almost coagulated glass of blood. It is sustenance, but at what price.

"Why?" Peter asks after a while, looking up at him again from where he has sunk to be almost horizontal on the sofa.

"Why what?" Aro replies, keeping an instinct to mock back, wanting, despite himself, not to ruin what seems like the beginnings of a truce.

"Why did you help Lucian, all that time ago?"

It is not what Aro is expecting, but then, he supposes Lucian and Peter must have had some conversations about them while he himself has not been there to have to overhear.

"He fascinated me. And it never hurts to have someone owe you a favour. Besides, I was intending to send some of my people over to renovate it, but the lycans did a perfectly fine job of that without having been told to."

Peter looks at him for a moment.

"No," he says, "what's the real reason?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You don't spend centuries getting to know a person like that, seducing him, taking him all over the place, all that kind of stuff, you don't do that just because it's nice to be owed a favour. He's special to you. And you to him. Must be, or else he'd take off that fucking ring."

And Aro can't help the self-satisfied smile that inspires, nor the quiet joy it gives him that it bothers the human so. Peter glares at him, but clearly expects an answer still.

"The reasons I gave are all true," he begins, "though not perhaps all. I had hoped initially to have Lucian join my guard, to have him create more of his kind. Though for proper payment and treatment, of course, not through slavery. I may be from 1300 B.C., but I'm not _that_ much of an old fashioned monster."

"So basically you were gonna be like that Viktor guy, but slightly less horrific?"

Aro shrugs.

"It would be better for Lucian and his kind. They would have been safer in Volterra. I own large stretches of forest there where they would have been able to spend their full moons without fear of discovery."

"So they would be free like a dog is free to roam its owner's garden?"

"Certainly not," Aro replies, perhaps a little haughtily, "it would only be for as long as Lucian wished, and they would have been free to seek their fortunes elsewhere should they wish."

"But Lucian didn't want to be your lap wolf?"

Aro sighs, but perhaps it is a fair question.

"He prioritised always the well-being of his pack, his people. There is something noble in that. But I also came to know and respect him more as a person. I realised there were things I might more easily be able to do should I support him and his cause. And I have."

Peter squints at him.

"So you didn't basically enslave him again because you wanted to fuck him more than you wanted to own him?"

Aro rolls his eyes, but cannot deny that once again, Peter's understanding is harsh and vulgar, but hardly untrue in its essence. Peter grins.

"Knew it."


	17. 2014: Readying the Hunting Party

Lucian comes in the next morning, an hour or so after dawn, his clothes dusty, his hair tangled, with a couple of tiny twigs stuck in it. Aro has retreated to the safety of his room now that the sun is up, but Peter is half asleep on the sofa. He likes being there when Lucian comes back after full moons. It always seems to invigorate him, somehow, and when he returns he is generally in a much better mood than when he leaves the previous night.

Peter blinks an eye open at the sound of the door to the lift sliding open, prying open his other as well when Lucian enters.

“Hey,” he says, voice hoarse and sleepy.

“Good morning, my love,” Lucian greets him in return, bending down to kiss his cheek.

There is the faint smell of blood on him, some chunks of his hair sticking together with it, hanging down stiffly.

“I am going to take a shower, then perhaps you will join me in bed?” Lucian asks, looking pointedly at where the edge of a sofa cushion has left imprints on the side of Peter’s face.

“Mhmm,” Peter agrees.

He looks up at the screen again when Lucian leaves, trying to work out what he has missed. The volume is on low, so much so he can barely make out any words, though doubtlessly loud enough to still be mildly annoying to Aro. Their talk the evening before had been interesting, and terribly weird. It hadn’t been Peter’s intention to start a civil conversation, but he did so want to know more about Lucian, and he was not all that great at talking about himself. It usually turned into him telling Peter about some member of his pack, or Sonja, or the vile behaviour of the vampires, which was all well and good and interesting, but it wasn’t about _him_.

When Lucian returns ten minutes later, Peter has almost drifted off again. But he hears when Lucian turns the TV off, and makes himself wake up enough to appreciate the sight of Lucian. His hair hangs down, still gently dripping, and he has got a towel wrapped around his waist and nothing else. He smells like Peter’s favourite shampoo.

Peter lets Lucian pull him up off the sofa by his hand, leaning into the shorter man, resting his head on his shoulder before he can be convinced to move. He gets cold wet hair in his face, and this close he notices that the scented shampoo can’t quite cover up the persistent undertones of wet dog.

In the bedroom Peter draws the blackout curtains closed, squinting against the brightness of the morning sun even as he does so. When they are plunged into a comfortable darkness once more, he lets his robe slip from his shoulders, and doesn’t lay down on the bed so much as collapse, willingly losing his fight with gravity.

“Have fun?” he asks Lucian, who hangs the towel over a chair and gets into the bed with significantly more grace.

“I did,” he confirms, and shuffles closer until he can rest his head on Peter’s chest.

His hair drapes across Peter and it’s quite cold, but he finds he doesn’t mind. It gets quite warm here, despite the best efforts of his AC. He shuffles a bit so he can prop himself a little up again the pillows, stroking Lucian’s back. There are still a few long strands of fur poking out along his shoulders, and the nails on the hand that rests across Peter’s stomach are slightly too long and sharp and dark to be entirely human.

“Missed you,” he murmurs to Lucian, who hums in response, pressing a kiss to the nearest available part of Peter.

He knows, by now, that there is not a sharp and clear line between wolf and man, that whatever his physical form might currently be, Lucian is always a lycan. It’s like being bisexual, he had pointed out, and Peter had replied that that made sense. Even if he never takes his wolf shape again as long as he lives he will still always be both. It is, nevertheless, quite odd to see it like this. Perhaps it happens more often but he has simply never noticed it before.

“I talked to Aro,” he tells Lucian, who shifts enough to look up at him.

His eyes are normal, as human as they get, dark grey in the dim light.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. And neither of us killed the other.”

Lucian’s eyes slip closed again, but there is a soft smile on his face.

“Proud of you. And him.”

“Was a close thing, though. Hinted at wanting to eat me.”

“Mm. Is a vampire,” Lucian points out, “but we’ll know if he eats people.”

Peter frowns down at him, his hands freezing in their somewhat poor attempt to braid a section of Lucian’s hair.

“How?” he demands.

“Eyes. His eyes are only red when he eats people,” Lucian murmurs sleepily.

“Huh,” Peter says.

“That is both weird and very convenient.”

“Mm,” Lucian agrees, “sleepy.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, easing himself down a little, his hand snaking under Lucian’s hair to rest between his shoulder blades, holding him close.

Lucian falls asleep first, though not by much. The weight and warmth of him, the soft and steady rhythm of his breathing working to lull Peter to sleep too.

-

The first time Peter suspected something was up with Lucian was the day they met. Or night, anyway. The vampire who had got the better of Peter, who had knocked him out and was about to eat him, was a big guy. Tough. Old and dangerous. And from the time Peter through his daze had seen the vampire walk out of the room until the strange and blood-soaked man had come in it had been less than two minutes. What sort of human beats a vampire, unarmed, in that kind of time?

It had taken a while, of course, for him to realise. Both because he had gotten hit on the head pretty damn hard, and because he was exhausted and terrified. But the morning after, as he iced his head and munched on some painkillers, he had tried to remember what the vampire had said. He had called Lucian something, accused him, but Peter could not for the life of him remember the details, just the fact of it.

His suspicions lessened as they met up for a few more hunts, some successful, others leading to abandoned nests. Lucian seemed entirely human, bringing with him the proper amounts of weaponry, not showing any sign of super human strength or anything. And then, a little later, they began to meet up for fun. For someone to talk to about this insane reality they lived in, this knowledge that there were monsters out there, unseen and unknown by everyone but a few. And then, eventually, Peter brought Lucian back to his flat, to his bed.

It is not, in hindsight, like there weren’t hints. Lucian mentioning historic events as if they were something he was there for. The occasional too deep knowledge of vampires, and rare but vehement defence of that vile species. There was the way he always seemed to go out of his way to avoid the glass case with the antique werewolf hunting gun, as well as his enthusiastically expressed opinion that werewolves could not be real, much as he seemed pained whenever he spoke of them. These are all things Peter can look back on now and go oh, yeah, obviously. Obviously Lucian was one. But in the moment it seemed nothing more than a little odd. And who was he, really, to decide what was weird or not? If one knew the monsters out there were real, who could stand alone in that knowledge and not get a bit strange?

In the end the truth had been revealed. Lucian had sat him down and told him, when it had become clear that their relationship was becoming something more than vampire hunters with benefits. He had sat Peter down, taken his hands in his own, and told him that there was something he needed to know about him, something important. Peter hadn’t known what to expect from the conversation. He had begun, however, a little while earlier, to suspect there was something a tiny bit _off_ about Lucian. A glimpse of pale eyes in the darkness while on a hunt. The way cats would look at him and hiss and scurry out of sight, and guard dogs would whimper and retreat to the safety of their dog houses. The way most of his silver jewellery had gone missing without any clear explanation.

When Lucian told him, Peter hadn’t believed him, hadn’t wanted to. He had demanded to know whether it was some kind of sick joke, some weird fucking manipulation thing. Then he had told Lucian to prove it, which, in retrospect, had made little sense as it had been a new moon, and he didn’t yet understand the rules governing lycans’ transformations. But still, Lucian had complied, showed him those pale eyes and sharp fangs of his. It had not been enough. Given that it was, of course, not a full moon, Peter had suspected him of being some sort of strange, day walking vampire, and so, desperate to make him see, make him believe, Lucian had proved it.

It had been a horrific sight, the transformation. The distortion of bone, the fur pressing through skin, the noises made by the shifting and elongating of bones. To see his head change shape entirely, become utterly inhuman, to look into those flat black voids and recognise nothing of the man- no, the creature he had let into his bed. Peter had lasted through most of the transformation before running for the bathroom, vomiting his guts up into the toilet for a long while.

When he had gotten out, Lucian was once again human, and looking deeply worried. And Peter, merciful as he was, had told him to get out. To stay out of his sight because he was a vampire hunter, not a werewolf hunter, but Lucian had lied to him, had pretended to be a human, to be safe, and he had broken all trust Peter had in him.

Peter had lasted a month. A single, miserable and quite lonely month before he contacted Lucian again. He had had countless fights with himself, with the representation of Lucian in his mind. He had gotten drunk, and when the moon turned full he had stared out the window at it the whole night through.

The first contact was just a text, asking whether Lucian would explain. He had, to some degree, that night, but not enough, and Peter’s mind had since become too clouded with anger and betrayal to remember the final details. Lucian had agreed, had met in him, as Peter demanded, in a public place, in the middle of the day, a situation where he couldn’t do anything to Peter without consequences. But of course Lucian never would.

It took Peter a while to understand, and longer to forgive. Longer still until they got back to where they were before Lucian’s revelation, but the lycan never blamed him. Never expressed anything but contrition, which Peter since began to feel bad for. It still took him a while to apologise, but Lucian had waved it off as perfectly understandable and nothing to be sorry about, because that was just the sort of person he was.

-

“I’m coming with,” Aro announces.

“What the fuck?” Peter, quite reasonably, demands.

“I know you do not trust him, my love, but he is very good in a fight. We would do well to have him on our side should there be a problem,” Lucian points out.

It was going to be Lucian and Peter’s first hunt since the whole Aro situation began, but now Peter no longer knows what’s happening.

“I- No- what? Course he’s not, you’re not. What if he sides with the vampires instead?”

Aro looks almost offended at this.

“They are not the same kind of vampires as me, I thought that had been established. And you may not trust me, but I would not betray my dear wolf. That much you should have realised by now.”

“So? You might decide to let them go?”

“I promise you, Peter, I will not. I am simply interested in how this vampire hunting happens, that is all. Looking forward to seeing Lucian in a fight. It has been some time, and he does know how to handle a sword with grace.”

“That some sort of euphemism?” Peter demands, and grins at how uncomfortable Aro looks.

“All right. All right. Fine. But no weapons for you.”

Aro gives him a fanged smile.

“Oh, worry not, I have not needed any for a very long time."


	18. Anywhere Between 1300BC & 2014AD tbh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry my head hurts and i am very tired so today's update is just a drawing


	19. 2014: The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt commences

They have to wait until dusk to go, for Aro’s sake, of course, and Peter seethes. It’s not that it’s all that important to him to leave early, he just resents the concessions to the vampire’s nature, the fact that they have to adjust their hunting schedule around his weakness to the sun. It’s stupid.

The drive over is awkward. They’re all in Peter’s car. He’s driving, Lucian in the passenger seat, and Aro’s in the back, smiling pleasantly as if he’s not a man eating monster. Peter wishes fervently that the thing about vampires and mirrors were true. He wanted to stop and get coffee on the way, but now he feels weirdly self conscious about it, as if Aro is going to give him a bad grade in vampire hunting or something equally stupid. After about five minutes of tense silence, broken only occasionally by Lucian giving him directions, Peter groans in frustration, entirely unprompted, and turns on the radio, setting the volume to slightly painful.

The building they get to is a smallish block of flats, the kind that only fits about two units per floor, and stands only three floors tall. Peter can see windows, though, down low to the ground, and faint light from within. The upper windows are all dark. 

Peter gets out his things. Sword. Stakes. Guns are loud, and frankly the thing has never been all that effective anyway. Lucian has promised to help him work out a crossbow situation soon, but they haven’t gotten to it yet, and he’s not sure this building is the place for ranged weaponry anyway. He’s got a couple of vials of holy water, and he empties one over the sword, soaking it in the power of christ or something.

“Tell me,” Aro says, and Peter rolls his eyes before the vampire can get another word out, “when the sword dries, does the holiness evaporate, or is the blessing particles that can cling to steel?”

“Uh,” says Peter, to whom this particular question has not occurred, “think it’s gotta be wet to be holy? I mean, it’s not like water disappears, it goes- hold on, how does the water cycle go again? It becomes rain, and then-"

But Lucian and Aro are already approaching the building. He swears, mutters something about immortal impatience, and locks the car and follows them. The building stands far enough apart from its neighbours that no one is likely to hear any sounds of a fight, which was probably the reason the vampires chose it, too. As usual Lucian has done most of the research, but apparently there’s quite a decent sized nest here. Another reason to let Aro come along. The theory on the subject among them is the vampires have settled in the basement, gradually feeding on the residents in the building. A sort of buffet situation, Aro had called it, sickeningly. 

The thing about Aro is that he’s not all that useful as a source to get into the head of the vampires they hunt, because he’s been so rich and powerful for thousands of years that he barely remembers what it’s like to have to actually hunt, rather than have someone deliver your victims to you. Which is a pretty horrifying thought.

“I’ll do a sweep of the upper floors,” Lucian is saying, “and you two can move towards the basement.”

“What? You’re sticking me with Nosferatu here? What if he eats me?” Peter demands.

Aro scoffs, making a face that very effectively implies that despite earlier threats Peter just isn’t worth the calories.

“He won’t,” Lucian promises, “whatever he feels about you he cares enough about me to keep you safe. Isn’t that right Aro?”

Aro sighs and nods.

“I am very old and very powerful,” he says wearily, like someone explaining something to a toddler for the tenth time in as many minutes, “and my darling wolf inexplicably seems very attached to you. I will keep you safe.”

“What enthusiasm,” Peter mutters darkly, but nods at Lucian.

The lycan leans in to press a kiss to Peter’s cheek before disappearing into the building, and Peter resists the urge to stick his tongue out at Aro. Instead he draws his sword, making sure the wolf head pommel catches the light of the lamp posts, gleaming at Aro, and follows Lucian.

There is a single lightbulb hanging in the entryway, flickering gently. This was not a great building to live in, even before the vampires. Along one wall are the post-boxes, many stuffed with letters and bills to the point of falling out, a small sea of ads gathering on the floor below. The walls are painted a sickly pale ochre, and the lift has an out of order sign on which has been scrawled a multitude of complaints in various ink colours. The vampires hiding here have clearly not cared too much about keeping up appearances.

Peter makes an after you gesture in the direction of the door with a plaque declaring it the basement floor, and Aro gives him a look, but leads the way. He is, as he says, very old and powerful, and so he can surely withstand the first attack better than a soft and fragile mortal.

“There are at least five of them,” Aro whispers as they head down the stairs, “and one living victim that I can hear, though they appear unconscious still.”

“Should we wait for Lucian?” Peter whispers back.

This is a larger nest than any he has encountered before, and he doesn’t trust Aro, though he does believe him when he says he won’t want to disappoint Lucian. Aro cocks his head, glances upwards.

“He’s a bit busy,” he replies, “seems he found some vampires up above. But believe me, these are no match for me. Or are you too scared, without the big strong wolf to guard you?”

He is goading Peter, he very obviously is, but Peter is not a strong man, and he lets him do it.

“Fine,” he hisses through gritted teeth, shoving past Aro down the stairs, and he can just hear the fucker smile.

He lingers outside the final door, ear pressed to the cold metal as Aro stands behind him looking bored, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his immaculate black suit. Who wears a suit to hunt vampires? Evidently Aro, who appears to exclusively own expensively tailored formalwear. Peter can’t imagine wearing a proper suit at gunpoint, never mind absolutely all the time. Not even sleep as an excuse to take it off.

Peter raises his sword, gestures a complicated set of hand movements and facial expressions meant to communicate “do you think they have heard us?” to Aro, but the only response he gets is a frown. So what the hell, right?

The door creaks, loud and long as he pushes it open, because of course it does. Six sets of eyes all flick to Peter, and all darken until nothing but black voids stare at him. There is a pile of bodies on the floor, mostly dead, though as Aro said one of them seems to be breathing still. The vampires all wear filthy mismatched clothes, some seemingly stolen from their victims. Peter wonders what kind these are, so very different from Aro. 

One of the vampires opens its mouth, and like Jerry it keeps opening far past what is humanly possible, stretching quite literally from ear to ear and revealing piranha-esque needle teeth. The vampire, who looks like they once were a young woman, blonde hair stained a blackened red, hisses something, and it must be a command of some sort, because they all rush forth in an attack.

Everything is a blur. Aro is quite literally a blur, moving so fast Peter cannot see, fighting three of them while he himself waves his sword uselessly at the three others, just keeping them at a distance for now. One leans in, hissing at him, face splitting grotesquely, teeth bared. Another knocks him down as he’s distracted. Beyond it all he can hear noises from above, where Lucian’s fighting. 

Aro has taken care of two of his opponents, and one of the vampires threatening Peter breaks off, joining the other circling the ancient vampire. He doesn’t look the least affected by this, but Peter is starting to feel overwhelmed. Lucian’s absence is making him anxious, and there’s too many vampires, there’s _only_ vampires.

“Why are you siding with human?” one of the vampires demands of Aro in a sneering hiss.

“You know, I ask myself that too sometimes. But my love does insist,” Aro replies, so casually you wouldn’t guess he was in the middle of a bloody fight.

“The human?” another vampire asks, grimacing.

Aro glances at Peter with raised eyebrows.

“Him? Oh no, I am talking of the werewolf who is busy ripping apart your comrades on the upper floors,” Aro says with a fanged smirk.

Peter considers protesting, but chooses instead to lunge at one of the distracted vampires, driving his sword deep into its belly. It comes out in a spurt of black blood with a horrific wet noise. The vampire howls, but doesn’t seem too hurt, because it tackles him to the ground. He faintly hears Aro say something in Italian, and then more growling. The noises from above are coming closer, but the vampire has pinned his hands to the filthy floor, is baring its teeth inches from his throat. He wishes he had worn his fake cross tattoos, although given how little the holy water on the sword worked, maybe these vampires aren’t affected by the burn of the holy. Or perhaps it’s because Peter has never been a christian, because there is no belief behind it.

He writhes, manages to get a knee between himself and the vampire, driving it as hard as he can into the open wound. The vampire recoils, and Peter frees one hand, grabbing desperately for the sword. It’s just out of reach, but Aro, evidently ever attentive, kicks it closer. Peter cuts his palm open on the side of the blade, but manages to grab the hilt and cut into the vampire’s neck. It is not enough to sever the head, but the vampire falls to the side, grasping uselessly at the wound.

A loud growl sounds from above, and Peter can see the shadow of a transformed Lucian leaping above him, driving another of the vampires to the ground and tearing into its throat. Peter scrambles to his feet, tearing the sword loose from where it got stuck in the vampire’s spinal cord, and almost vomits when it comes free. It is unbelievably disgusting, but Peter takes a deep breath breath, immediately regrets it, and brings it down on the gaping wound again, this time with enough force to sever it, dead blood seeping too slowly from the stump. 

He swings wildly around, but Aro finishes _ripping the head off the last one with his bare fucking hands_ , and fuck, that shouldn’t be physically possible, should it? But the two pieces of vampire corpse fall to the ground, and in an instant Aro has moved past Peter to the other side of the room, and sunk his fangs into the throat of the single living victim.

Peter shouts, something incomprehensible even to himself, and that seems to call attention to him. And he knows. He knows he knows he knows that this is Aro and Lucian, but they both have blood staining their faces, smeared around their mouths and they’re advancing on him and fuck his heart is beating so fast now, and he can’t get enough breath into his lungs. And the huge wolf and the ancient vampire are getting closer, red eyes and black staring at him, boring into his soul.


	20. 2014: The Hunt part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is Not Having A Good Time

In the end it is Lucian who approaches, sinking to walk on all fours. Peter can’t breathe, can’t think with the terror of it. Every thought, every word he tries to get out crashes into an invisible wall of panic within his mind, not helped in the slightest by the sight of a clawed and bloodied hand closing in.

There’s a noise, and Peter is dimly aware of two more vampires bursting into the room from somewhere above. A small and somewhat lucid part of his brain thinks that his life has become a fucking video game, endless ever respawning enemies streaming in through the only exit. Aro fights them. Probably? Peter can’t make himself focus, but suddenly the sharp claws are on his skin and-

Peter is folded into a fluffy embrace, his head tucked in against Lucian’s furry chest, blood sticky fur brushing against his face, and through the pervasive smell of gore there is the familiar scent of a wolfy Lucian. His heart doesn’t feel like it’s slowing down yet, nor is his mind clear, but at least he is safe in the knowledge that Lucian will never hurt him. The lycan makes a deep rumbling sound, which Peter feels more than he hears, and which he recognises as a reassurance. He lets Lucian hold him and keep him safe as he shivers.

The noises of the fight die down soon after, but he isn’t paying attention yet, he can’t. Everything is still too much, too overwhelming, and the smell of vampire entrails is so strong that it’s a minor miracle he hasn’t thrown up yet.

Aro says something, and Peter can’t make it out, but it is pronounced like an insult. Is it even English? He can’t tell. But the comforting claws holding him disappear, and Lucian rises to his hind paws, towering over the vampire and letting out a ferocious growl. Aro replies, still in largely the same tone, and no, no Peter’s pretty sure it’s not English, but he hasn’t the space to identify it because he’s busy with the sensation that his lungs are being crushed by his ribcage, a thousand needles piercing his throat from every side.

Lucian roars, genuinely roars, and if it did not come from the love of Peter’s short and fucked up life it would be terrifying. Still kind of is, if he’s honest. This rather aggressive conversation continues, but all Peter can think id that he needs a drink. The panic always goes away if he drinks enough. Not sufficient sense remaining to feel the panic. He wonders if there’s any booze in this basement, if he can get some from one of the abandoned flats, perhaps.

“Lucian, it’s not-” Aro nearly shouts, but is silenced.

Peter looks up, and sees Aro look down at his arm, slightly stunned. Four perfect red lines opened in his skin. Lucian, whose claws are dripping with bright red blood, looks surprised too, as much as a giant bipedal wolf can.

“I didn’t-” Aro begins, but falters, building anger drained out of him.

He sighs, and they all watch as the small wounds slowly close themselves. The tears in the sleeve of his suit jacket remains, through which skin, pale and quarts-like, can be seen. His hands are entirely covered in blood so dark it is almost black. Probably it is more than dry-cleaning can fix.

Lucian begins to shrink down, patches of skin appearing from beneath black fur. 

“Keys,” Aro says, holding his hand out towards Peter, who looks up at him uncomprehending.

The vampire rolls his eyes.

“For the automobile. Clothes? For Lucian?”

“Oh,” Peter mumbles, and has to check all his pockets at least twice before closing around something appropriately jangly, and tossing his keyring to Aro. 

Aro disappears out, moving at more human speed now. Peter sits, hands around his knees, watching with wide eyes at Lucian completes his return to the human form, the last of the fur melting away into nothing, claws turning back into blunt fingernails. When he turns to face Peter, though, his eyes are still that deathly pale blue, his teeth still fangs. But it’s close enough. It’s him. Any version is good with Peter.

“Are you all right?” he asks, kneeling before Peter and putting a careful hand onto his knee.

Peter shakes his head. Well, his entire body shakes, but his head a little more vigorously than the rest. Lucian gestures his intent to hug Peter for long enough that Peter nods, and folds him into his arms once more. Hands that are now soft and human rub over Peter’s back. He buries his head in the crook of Lucian’s neck, deliberately ignoring the flaking sticky blood that still covers most of him.

He doesn’t know how long they remain like that, nor when Aro enters, because the vampire moves silent as a mouse when he wants to, but it must be a while, as eventually his heart returns to beating at its normal pace, and his mind clears a little. 

Aro starts to say something, but Lucian cuts him off with a glare, even as he accepts the little pile of clothing. They seem to have a short but very intense conversation held exclusively in angry looks, which is pretty superfluous as they also speak gods know how many more languages than Peter, but it does at the very least seem efficient. 

As Lucian gets dressed in some dark sweats, Peter staggers to uncertain feet. He avoids looking at Aro at all, too unsettled by his newly crimson again eyes, by what it means. Tugging the sword from where it sticks to the floor with blood, he takes stock. A whole lot of dead vampires. A couple of dead humans. A lot of blood. Aro’s preferred method of killing seems either to be twisting necks so far around that the heads turn 180 degrees, or else to rip the heads off entirely, both of which seem like oddly brutal ways to kill for him. Not that there is a nice way to kill, but it seems more forceful and less elegant than Peter would have imagined.

He goes over to the victim Aro killed, uselessly checking her pulse, as if all her blood isn’t gone.

“You didn’t have to kill her,” he tells Aro, though with less anger than he thinks he will feel later.

Panic attacks always leave him exhausted, and he doesn’t have the energy to feel much of anything right now.

“I did,” Aro says, his voice quiet, now.

He walks over, crouches beside the dead woman, pushing her long black hair aside to revealed a second set of tooth shaped puncture wounds at the base of her throat.

“She was already bitten, she would have turned no matter what you did. Better to be finished off while unconscious than to be killed later.”

He is oddly calm. All shouted out from whatever he and Lucian talked about, perhaps. Or maybe he has some sympathy for what the process of turning into one of the undead is like, even if it was terribly long ago. Peter reminds himself to ask, at a later and better point, whether he wanted his fate, and if not, how long it took him to accept it. Unlike Lucian he was, after all, human once.

“You can’t know that,” Peter argues half heartedly, “she could’ve survived it. Maybe she wasn’t infected, maybe-”

Lucian’s hand on his shoulder cuts him off.

“Would you have preferred to kill her yourself?” Aro demands, though he remains calm, “would you rather have waited for her to wake up and then explained the situation to her? Excuse me miss human, but you are going to turn into an undead monster and I am going to kill you but not immediately, not until you come into your powers?”

“Worked on Jerry,” Peter mutters.

“Hmm?”

“Jerry, the vampire who- did Lucian tell you?”

“Some,” Aro replies unhelpfully.

“Well, Jerry. Terrible vampire name, I agree. He, uh, he killed my parents when I was a kid. Missed me either by fluke or because he wanted me to watch, wanted to come back for me later, or some shit. Anyway, he did do that. Sort of. Kid came to ask me for help with a vampire, three years back. Same one, turns out. He and the people he turned, including the kid’s girlfriend, including- including me. When the kid, he set Jerry on fire, pierced his heart with a blessed stake. Cured all of us as he burned.”

“That’s what that is?” Aro asks, ignoring Peter completely to look at Lucian, who nods.

“What?” Peter demands.

“There’s… there’s a very slight hint of something not quite human in your scent,” Aro says.

“Gross.”

“I thought it was just Lucian at first, that he’d fucked you enough that there always lingered some hint of lycan DNA somewhere inside of you,” Aro says, and Peter makes a face at that description, “but this makes more sense.”

“All right, super gross take, asshole, but my point still stands. Could have cured her.”

“How?” Aro demands, gesturing at the room full of corpses, “if any of these sired her, then they’re already dead, it would have been too late.”

His eyes are a bright red, now, so bright they almost glow. Peter had gotten used to the more golden colour, and this takes the vampire right back to quite monstrous again. It’s unsettling. What’s worse is that he’s got a point. 

“Think of it,” Aro says, “as proactive euthanasia.”  
Peter is about to reply with equal fervour about how fucking tasteless that is, but Lucian squeezes his arm in warning.

“Let us deal with these,” he says, gesturing to the corpses.

“I’ve got a spare can of petrol in the car,” Peter suggests, partly as a joke.

Ten minutes later the pile of corpses, stacked for efficiency, are doused in petrol. Peter stands at the bottom of the stairwell and tosses a lit match at the pile. It flickers out before it can reach the pile of corpses. Peter needs four more attempts before he manages to make it look cool like it does in films or his show, but seeing the flames bloom, the way the vampire corpses turn to ashes within seconds of lighting up, it’s worth it. He resists the urge to film it on his phone.

Peter has taken to keeping wet wipes in the car specifically for getting blood off the more visible bits of skin, and it’s a blessing this time. Lucian and Aro especially have blood all over their faces. Peter less so, but there is still a smear across his cheek from Lucian’s bloody hug. In the end they only look a little bit like the grizzled survivors of a horror film as they make their way from the basement garage to Peter’s flat. The lift stops at one floor, but the young woman takes one look at them and turns on her heel, walking very rapidly towards the stairs. Peter doesn’t blame her.


	21. 2014: Introspection with the Vampire

Lucian and Peter are having sex. Aro knows this, because even through the whole of the flat, a number of closed doors and a pair of noise cancelling headphones playing a spirited rendition of Grieg’s most popular compositions, he can hear them. He sighs, and turns the music up even farther, the little bar on his mobile telephone going from orange to red. It’s not, at least, as if vampires can suffer hearing loss. Granted, right now that feels more like a curse than a blessing.

It has been three days since their mixed success joint vampire hunt, and things have been tense. Peter avoids Aro, but in entirely different manner than he did before. Now it’s not annoyance or disgust, it’s fear. He can see it every time their eyes lock, and Peter sees the red in Aro’s, the clear and concrete evidence of his transgression, of his breaking of that rule. The human had seemed, initially, to understand Aro’s reasoning, but perhaps it was the panic that had shocked him just enough for him not to entirely take in the fact of it.

It has stopped being fun, that’s the thing. In the beginning, Peter’s outright hatred for Aro was sort of charming, and certainly entertaining. He seemed to have no understanding of the amount of lives Lucian has taken, and the hypocrisy of his vehement dislike of vampires. And yes, Lucian had told Aro of Peter having lost his family to vampires when he was young, and that did make a certain amount of sense, but it still feels unfair, as if Aro were to judge every human on the actions of a single serial killer. But it’s one thing having someone be wary of him but also angry; having someone just avoiding you or giving you panicked glances when your paths meet on your way to the kitchen is entirely different. Far more depressing.

Lucian hasn’t talked about it either, but then, he’s still a bit angry at Aro. And okay, perhaps making fun of a so called vampire hunter having a panic attack while hunting vampires was a little bit tasteless, but Aro had been considerate! He had joked about it in Italian which the human didn’t even speak! But Lucian had gotten so angry, so defensive. He had even hurt Aro, which surprised him not only because the lycan had never done so before, but also because Aro genuinely had not thought him capable of it, on a purely physical level. His ancient skin is incredibly strong, and it usually took another vampire or fire to be able to actually do him harm. The wolves in Washington had managed to, but he had assumed that an exception, rather than a rule for all lycanthropes.

He apologised, the day after. It took a lot, but he pulled Lucian into his room and he apologised for what he said. And Lucian, while he had seemed to appreciate it, had insisted Aro beg the forgiveness of the human as well, but that had been too much to ask. Especially when Lucian himself had not even said he was sorry for attacking Aro. It was entirely a frustrating situation, and given the larger picture, Aro couldn’t even leave, could only continue to lay low, lower than before, weighted down by the mood in this blasted place.

Aro mutters a curse in a dialect of ancient Greek that no one but him and perhaps one or two other vampires would understand. He shoves the curtains aside, but there is still at least two hours until he can leave this place without telling the world what he is. Much as he is, of course, grateful that he is not one of those vampires whom the sun lights aflame, it is deeply inconvenient not to be able to venture outside in the daytime, at least without being mistaken for one of the local attractions here.

He presses the music device once more, but it refuses to be any louder than it already is, so he sighs and gets up. Heads out of the door (after making sure the curtain is in place, there is no reason to let Peter know more of his strengths than he needs to quite yet. If the boy means to attempt to assassinate him, Aro would prefer if he did so by means of sun exposure rather than anything that might actually harm him. Or might cause to have to kill him in self defence. Lucian would be terribly unhappy about that.) and towards the kitchen where a smaller separate freezer holds a few tubs of animal blood. Aro gets a mug out of a cupboard, and uses an ice cream scoop to fill the mug to the brim, and sets it into the small radiation compartment to warm up. It grates on him, having to live like this, like an animal, but he supposes it is better than being torn apart and set on fire for what was a minor policy disagreement at best.

As he listens to the whirr of the machine, fully audible through a lovely, if slightly too modern rendition of _Morgenstemning_ , he realises Peter and Lucian have finished, that now he can hear their soft murmured conversation about how much they love and adore each other. Disgusting. It took Lucian two full centuries before he told Aro that he loved him, but this human gets to hear it after less than two years? It seems unfair.

The heated blood tastes sad, and he resents it. Especially after the taste of that young woman a few nights ago, that reminder of how much sweeter it tastes straight from a living source. Admittedly she too had been slightly marred by having been partially drunk already, but still. That flow of life directly into him… Little compares.

“Draga mea,” he hears Lucian murmur behind him.

He must have been too distracted in his thoughts to hear the two of them come in. He turns to leave, but it is just Lucian there. The endearment, then, addressed to Aro?

“Lucian,” he replies, keeping his face and voice neutral, waiting to see what mood Lucian is in.

He appears happy currently, but then, love making with one’s partner of choice often has that effect.

“Can we talk?” Lucian asks, and Aro nods, gesturing to the small table.

It is one of the simpler pieces of furniture in the flat, which is why Aro likes it. While the place is furnished, as he prefers, ostentatiously, it is done so in just the wrong sort of style. It lacks elegance, lacks the gravity that age will give an old and expertly made piece. They sit down on either side, Aro’s mug steaming between them. It’s a custom one, saying World’s Best Vampire Hunter, and it is therefore the one Peter has declared one of the few pieces of kitchenware acceptable to be used with blood. He insists it’s hysterically funny, but clearly of the two of them Aro actually is the more skilled vampire hunter.

But look. Aro does actually admire Peter’s dedication to it, his bravery in the face of almost certain death, even if he remains pathetically inept at it still, and would likely have perished without Lucian’s help. Lucian has even told him that the first time they met was when he saved the human’s life from a vampire. Peter’s spirit, though, is strong, and though it is entirely directed to the slaying of Aro’s distant kin, it is in a way admirable.

“What is it?” Aro eventually asks when Lucian does not speak up, only looks at him with big worried eyes.

“I wanted to talk to you about… About the situation here. About the hunt.”

“Yes,” agrees Aro, “I thought you might.”

“It is just… Peter is worried.”

“I’ve gathered. He keeps looking at me like I’m the monster under his bed, out to eat him.”

Lucian gives him a look.

“You do realise that you essentially are?”

Aro sighs.

“I do, I do. I suppose I’ve done little to discourage the thought, but I do trust you know that I would not do that to you, my sweet wolf? I get that you care for him-”

“I love him,” Lucian interrupts to specify.

“Yes, that. You do. And you know I love you, my dear, and I wouldn’t hurt you so, even though I do miss having you to myself. Or, really, at all.”

Lucian looks down, away, folds his hands on top of the table. Aro’s ring glints on his finger.

“Yes. I… I miss you also.”

He clearly feels safer saying this when not speaking in English, when Peter mightn’t overhear. 

«But that’s not it, not quite.»

«No?»

«No.»

Aro waits patiently as Lucian gathers his thoughts. Watches the way he visibly has to concentrate to keep his hands still, the way his hair hangs down tangled round his face, the tie having been lost at some point. He looks at deep hazel grey eyes under furrowed brows. He tries to remember what colour his own eyes used to be, thousands of years ago.

«I know that I’ve promised you shelter for as long as you need it,» Lucian begins, and Aro has a sinking feeling that this talk is not about Lucian and Peter asking Aro into their bed (he would consider it, for the record, his does miss his sweet wolf so).

«But I don’t want Peter to be afraid in his own home. I don’t want him to spend more time than he has to worrying about vampires.»

«Your pet human has dedicated his life to worrying about vampires,» Aro points out with an arched eyebrow. 

Lucian inclines his head.

«He has, yes. But I am asking you to try, please, to be nicer to him. To try to not antagonise him further, though I realise he occasionally makes it very easy.»

«He does seem an infuriating man at times.»

Lucian smiles at that.

«On occasion»

«But I need you,» he continues, «to promise not to eat any more people while you stay here. Not even situations like the other night. And I need you to make that promise to me.»

«Do you disagree with what I did?»

«Not necessarily, no. But then, I am not human. No one hunts and eats lycans. I would not know the feeling of being prey. But as I said, I need my love to feel safe in his own home, and that means you stick to animal blood while you stay here. Even if it’s not as good, even if I’ll miss your lovely eyes.»

Aro’s eyes are already getting lighter again, a glowing yellowish orange, now, which he doesn’t enjoy. The between stages of that particular change are unfortunate. 

«Very well,» Aro promises, «for you, my sweet, I will attempt to be nicer to him. Will he do me the same courtesy?»

Lucian looks over his shoulder at where Peter stands in the other room, swearing at his telephone. His face when he turns back is revoltingly fond. Aro doesn’t enjoy the jealousy gnawing at his dead and lifeless insides.

«Probably not,» he admits.

«Oi,» Peter yells at them from the living room, «is the bloodsucker talkig shit about me again?»

«No more than you deserve,» Aro promises with an explicitly insincere smile.

Lucian folds his arms on the table and lets his head thunk down onto them. Aro leans across the table, laying a hand on Lucian’s arm in such a way that it ought to be hard to see from Peter’s angle.

«I will try,» he promises again, voice softer now, and Lucian lifts his head enough to give him a grateful look.

There is little, Aro has come to realise, that he would not do to make those eyes look upon him with kindness and affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's listening to Grieg because I imagine he'd be the type to be into classical music and because I refuse to acknowledge that other countries have notable composers despite having had to look on wikipedia to come up with literally any other piece than Dovregubbens hall.


	22. 1765: La Chasse à la Bête du Gévaudan, Mais Avec le Vampire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ancient Cryptid Hunts

They meet in southern France in 1765, in late winter. More precisely they meet the region of Gévaudan, where recently a beast of some sort has been massacring the locals. Theories are that it’s a wolf of some sort, and Aro is keen to learn the truth. He is also keen to see Lucian again, for it has been almost a decade since their last rendezvous. The Volturi have had a busy time, and lycans have moved yet again, this time to the Ardennes mountains, as far away from Castle Corvinus as they have ever been, given the resurgence of vampiric activities there, of which Lucian had been warned by a letter from Aro.

He has rented rooms in an inn a little ways outside Langogne, the site of the first attack. He was at Versailles for unrelated purposes when he heard of the royal hunters being sent down here, and these tales of a bestial wolf intrigued him so that he decided to make the journey down himself, and who better to help him work out what this creature really is than his very own sweet wolf?

Lucian arrives a day after Aro, just after noon, and though it is a cloudy day, Aro is hidden inside. Just in case. The vampire has donned some slightly less ostentatious clothes than those he wore at court, but still Lucian looks amused at the sight of him. But then, the lycan still dresses the same way he did in the 13th century, though the garments are more well made now. Tough leather pieces, sewn together at odd seams. His clothes tend to be, as it is not unusual for him to have to transform in the heat of battle, which does rather ruin most clothes.

“Aro,” he exclaims, finally having managed not to automatically refer to him by title.

“My dear, sweet wolf.”

He takes his wolf’s hands in his own, making a deliberate effort not to read his mind. Lucian has told him that it makes him rather uncomfortable, and so Aro tries to avoid it, however tempting it is. He wishes Lucian understood that it is simply the best way to truly know him, to reassure himself that Lucian’s feelings towards him remain the same, but. Well. 

Lucian pulls him out of his thoughts and into a deep kiss. The feel and taste of him is everything Aro craves these last centuries, his love and elusiveness an intoxicating combination. He has asked whether Lucian will come to work for him at Volterra, and each time Lucian asks whether that will repay his debt. And when Aro hesitates, he tells him that he will work for him if it frees him of his obligation, but not otherwise. That he would rather, if Aro is to keep holding this over his head, continue as before, their rare but lovely meetings. And Aro understands, but he still wishes he could keep him close at hand. Available. But if he agreed he would be less the man that Aro loves, he realises this in rare moments of true self insight.

“Have you been well?” Lucian asks, after getting settled into their shared rooms.

“As much as one can be in these times.”

“Yes, I imagine being incomprehensibly rich and powerful is so very taxing,” Lucian teases.

Aro sighs a weary sigh for comedic effect, and Lucian kisses him again, a hand sliding into Aro’s hair to mess it up just a little. He has so missed his wolf.

“It’s a little Spartan for you, what has happened? The working class vampires finally revolting?”

Lucian is looking around the small dark space that is all that was available. The windows are barely there, the bed is shockingly small, and it smells rather unpleasant. Aro does stand out in his finery, even if he chose the most subdued look he has.

“They have not,” Aro replies, and Lucian sighs, “but this is apparently the best Gévaudan has to offer. Rather a contrast from Paris, to be sure.”

“You must be suffering immensely,” Lucian says with mock sympathy.

“Oh, I am. Would you care to console me, my sweet?”

And Lucian, to his credit, does. Slowly he divests Aro of his clothing, kissing every new inch of skin as it is revealed. He worships Aro’s body with his hands and mouth, and then opens himself up to him. They make love for hours, unbothered by the constraints that would have bound them were they human. They hear the muttered complaints in the room below, and redouble their efforts in return. Aro is paying too much to be thrown out, and he is ready to make the most of it.

-

“Do you love me?”

Lucian looks up at him from his meal. Aro watches him over the brim of his goblet of blood.  
“You know I do.”

“Mm,” Aro hums, “but it is good to hear you say it, still.”

“What’s wrong, do they not shower you in enough love at home?” Lucian asks.

“They do, but it is born out obligation. Even my darling Sulpicia loves me out of habit more than anything else.”

“And I don’t?”

“You don’t. Your love feels like something I have to earn, more valuable for it.”

-

It is still supposed to be days before the royal hunters arrive in the region, so Aro and Lucian go out the following night in search of the beast. Lucian balks at the phrase, having heard only the theories that it is a monstrous wolf. Aro wonders if he considers it kin, but he has not dared to ask. Any comparison to true wolves is still a sore subject, and Aro tries not to bring it up.

They walk through deep forests, their supernatural senses reaching out, but cannot find anything more wild and dangerous than a she-wolf and her two pups. It seems to fill Lucian with emotion, but he does not speak of it, so Aro simply lays a hand upon his shoulder as they walk on.

When they return to their lodgings shortly before dawn, they are surprised by a group of men. There are near two dozen of them, all armed with the simple weapons of a small village mob. Several carry torches, and many of them wear garlands of garlic around their throats, and brandish crucifixes. Some, the more wealthy among them, carry swords, and one man has a rifle pointed at the two of them.

“Look at its eyes,” one of the men cries in French, “it is not human!”  
Which, he supposes, is a fair accusation.

“It consumes the blood of the innocent,” another claims, and, well, Aro’s got no defence from that either, but it still seems excessive to gather a mob about it.

“It’s in league with the devil,” accuses a third, and that, at least, is an outright lie.

Aro himself is much older than any Christian devil, and were such a creature real he would certainly not be making deals with them.

“They’re sodomists,” cries a fourth, and all right, that one is true as well, Aro supposes, and they would have done well to be a little more quiet.

“We have no wish to harm you,” Lucian tells them in accented but fairly competent French, “if we are no longer welcome here we shall be on our way.”

And Aro has to disagree.

“My dear, I have paid very well for our room, they have no cause to throw us out over _baseless_ accusations,” Aro protests.

“Aro,” Lucian warns, but is unable to get another word out before the humans attack.

They split themselves between the two of them, and Aro, who hasn’t been in an actual physical fight in about three hundred years, is a little overwhelmed. He grabs one of them, whose knife stabs uselessly at him, cutting his clothes to ribbons but having no such effect on his skin, and bites into him, savouring the blood straight from the source. Lucian is faring a bit worse, as though his powers of healing a prodigious, he can still be harmed with traditional weaponry.

The shouting and clanging of metal is broken by a scream, which transitions first into a howl, and eventually a roar. So. Lucian has proved to them that it is he who is La Bête. That is... unfortunate. But then, they seemed already to be convinced of Aro’s and Lucian’s monstrosity.

Lucian, in all his lycan glory tears into the humans, and Aro too makes some headway in the small mob. The still frozen mud on which they stand is getting soaked in hot blood. A waste, but Aro cannot possibly drain all of them anyway.

A shot rings out, followed by a howl of pain, and more shouting. Aro can hear the silver sear Lucian’s flesh, and in his outrage rips the human closest to him in two. A moment later another shot sounds, then a third. He can hear Lucian whimper in pain, and the sounds of swords penetrating flesh.

The rest of the fight is a blur, a massacre in shape of a whirlwind, until all the men lay dead on the ground. Aro is at Lucian’s side in a moment, surveying the damage. A multitude of sword wounds and cuts, which all will heal fine, but he has also taken three silver bullets to the chest and throat, the small wounds steaming, the scent foul. The bullets will have to be carefully removed, and Aro cannot do it out here.

He lifts Lucian in his arms, the massive wolf no match for his strength, and carries him gently into their rooms. With utmost care he places Lucian down on the bed, and kisses his furry head.

“I will find something to clean the wound,” he promises, “worry not, the humans cannot harm you any more.”

Lucian only whimpers in response, a clawed hand grasping weakly at Aro as he leaves.   
He searches through the rooms for anything to help clean the wound and extract the bullets. It has been millennia since last he had to do something like this, and he has only a vague idea of what he is looking for. 

In one room he finds a young girl. He tries to tell her to run away, but she doesn’t appear to understand him, and responds only in what Aro thinks might be Occitan, which he has never bothered to learn. He was going to spare her, or ask her for help, but she only screams and shouts incomprehensibly, so he twists her neck until it snaps. He can’t think with this noise.

Finally, after throwing out of his way everything unhelpful, which here seems to be most everything, Aro manages to gather what he need. A basin of water heated over the fire, some wash cloths that seem reasonably clean, and some long poking instruments for grabbing the bullets. Now, seeing as Lucian is more or less immortal, infection isn’t a worry, which helps. Neither, really, is doing too much damage to the surrounding tissue, although that of course will hurt, and Aro wishes as little pain for his dear wolf as possible.

He strokes a calming hand through Lucian’s fur. The poor man can’t change back, however much easier that would make things for Aro, without causing further damage.

“I will be as careful as I am able, my sweet, I promise,” Aro assures Lucian, but receives in reply only a pained growl, which he takes to mean please hurry.

They are lucky that the inn is in such a deserted location, not only because there are twenty corpses outside, but also because Lucian’s response to Aro’s attempts to remove the bullets is a pained howl so loud Aro’s ears hurts for a while after. 

“I am so sorry for this pain, my love,” he murmurs as he carefully extracts the first of the bullets, the one lodged in his side, just between two ribs.

That one is easily enough removed, and clinks as Aro drops it on the floor. He has inspected it, and though the silver is mostly a coating, it is an intact one, nothing flaked off inside of Lucian’s body.

“That is the first one. You are doing so well, sweet wolf.”

Lucian’s claws have dug deep grooves into the side of the bed, leaving small piles of wood chips on the floor on either side. His fangs are bared, and Aro strokes a hand along his cheek, large black eyes screwed shut with the pain.

The next bullet has hit just below Lucian’s heart, and evidently hit a large vein of some sort, because blood bursts from the wound when Aro succeeds in prying it loose. He holds a cloth to the wound until the blood slows, which is fortunately quite fast. It is good at survival, this lycan body. He presses a kiss to the fur just above, over his heart. At least, more or less. Lucian’s anatomy has shifted some, though largely things seem to be in roughly the same spot. 

“Almost done,” he promises a suffering Lucian, who is by now reduced to pained whimpers.

The one in his throat has luckily missed all the important parts, hasn’t gone near his spinal cord, but Lucian’s neck is massive like this, and it sits deep in the muscle tissue. It hasn’t bled much, so Aro has to comb through black and bloodstained fur until he finds the small circular wound. Even more so that the others, this requires his propping open the wound, no longer able to grasp it with the tips of fingers.   
“This is going to hurt, I fear,” he tells Lucian, who braces, digging his claws into the wooden frame of the bed.

He howls. For the full ten minutes it takes Aro to get the bullet out of him, he howls in pain, so loud Aro feels sure the entire region can hear him. Wolf howls, fortunately, are not all that rare here, so if anything, perhaps locals will assume the royal hunters have arrived already and found their prey with unprecedented efficiency.

“There, my love, the silver is gone, so you should start to heal. I do not know how long it usually takes, but I think you ought to rest, all right? I am going to clean your other wounds, and then I am going to tidy up the bodies outside. We won’t want anyone disturbing us while you recover, hmm?”

Lucian growls, but softly.

“Yes, I think it would be wise not to let your body undergo the added stress of a transformation right now, so you should stay like this, sweet wolf of mine. I will fetch you something to eat after I get rid of the corpses. If there is no human food here I will go out and hunt something quick. I know your distaste for eating humans.”

Lucian grasps one of Aro’s blood slick hands in his, squeezing it in what Aro guesses to be an expression of gratitude.

“I am sorry I got you hurt, my love, I ought to have held my tongue. I will be more careful in the future. I forget you are not quite as invulnerable as I am.”

He tidies up the bloody rags and cleans the worst of the blood from Lucian’s wounds.

“All done. I will go out and deal with the corpses now, and I suggest you attempt to get some sleep. It is far past dawn.”

Aro looks at his bloody hand, then licks it. Lucian squints at him.

“What? I am a vampire, it is what I do,” Aro tells him, a little defensively.

Lucian growls.

“Fine, I won’t do it again. Not quite to my taste, anyway. Bit gamey.”

Lucian growls again, louder.

“Did you want me to tell you you taste delicious? Because I will, my love, but in another context. Something for when you are more… conveniently shaped, yes?”

Lucian makes a softer, rumbling sound, and turns, slowly and carefully, over onto his side, a more natural position when he is in this shape. Aro pets a hand over his side, careful to avoid his wounds, and then leaves him to rest.

The blood in the bodies outside has already gone cold and unappetising, but Aro drains the girl he found in the inn. No use in letting perfectly fine blood go to waste. He drags her, and the others, into the forest. It takes a while, even with his supernatural strength and speed, but he finds a natural dip in the landscape, and fills the pit with corpses and fells a few trees to cover it up. Good enough until Lucian is well enough to travel.

There is food in the inn, which is good, because the sun is starting to peek through the heavy cloud cover, and Aro doesn’t want to be a bright shining beacon right now. He finds dry meat, which he brings up, as well as ale and water. There are vegetables and bread as well, but he has not prepared a meal for 3026 years, and probably has rather lost the knack for it. Besides, he has an idea that wolves are carnivores, meat is probably best until he changes back. Can wolves have ale? Aro doesn’t know. It is not, of course, as if Lucian is a normal wolf, but Aro wants to be on the safe side. No, meat and water to start, anything else can wait until he’s more human again.

When Aro gets back into their room, Lucian appears to have fallen asleep, so Aro sets the jug of water and what appears to be an entire cured leg of mutton on the small table. He climbs onto the bed, sitting just close enough to Lucian that he can stroke his fur, and be a calming presence, but far enough that he won’t accidentally touch a wound. Then he waits.

Lucian wakes a few hours later, drinks the water and devours the leg of mutton, and falls right asleep again, though this time with his large head in Aro’s lap. He clearly needs it, as his wounds heal slower than Aro would like, but he doesn’t know what he can do about it.

Around dusk the following evening he starts to shrink and compact in on himself, fur retreating into body hair, claws becoming nails, rough grey skin becoming soft and pinkish pale. He doesn’t wake up at all, which Aro finds slightly worrying, but again, his knowledge of lycan biology is limited. Well, it’s very good at certain parts, but not these. Soon enough, though, a naked Lucian rests in his lap. The wounds that weren’t from the silver are gone, but the bullet holes linger still. Aro pulls a blanket over them, and wishes he had brought a book from the table on the other side of the room, but he doesn’t want to disturb Lucian’s slumber.

In the end it takes three days before Lucian is feeling entirely himself again. The bullet holes scar, silver wounds always do, but those red rimmed patches of shiny white skin is all that remains of the fight. On the last day they make slow and gentle love, and Aro tells Lucian that he is sorry and that he loves him approximately forty two times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise that Lucian can, if pressed, flex silver out of his body, but I wanted Aro to take care of him, so lets pretend he's not learned how to do that yet in the 1760s. Also la bête du gévaudan is my favourite old timey cryptid.


	23. 2014: In the Light of Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets to know a little bit more about his newish flatmate

When Peter first learns of Aro’s invulnerability to the sun, it is two months into their challenging living situation. Lucian is out buying more blood for Aro, as they all feel it is probably less suspicious if it is bought while the sun is out and by someone whose eyes are a human colour, and so Aro and Peter are alone. They are in the bigger of the living rooms (now also an undying room, given Aro’s presence), and Peter is adjusting the blackout curtains he’s hung up here so Aro won’t be confined just to the single smallest room in the penthouse for twelve hours a day. It is, Peter feels, terribly generous of him.

It happens when Peter, balancing precariously on the back edge of the sofa, reaches just a little too far to grab at a section on curtain, and falls to the floor, taking the curtain with him. It tumbles down over his head, and he scrambles to throw it off shouting.

“Aro! Get out of the way, it’s-”

But when he emerges, frantically, from the dusty space between the back of the sofa and the windows, Aro is unharmed. At least, Peter thinks he is. Certainly he is not on fire, no flames licking at his skin, but-

“What the _fuck_ , Aro?!”

The vampire’s skin is lit up, sparkling like a representative for a producer of body glitter at Pride, everywhere the sun hits. It’s like his skin is made of a myriad of tiny diamonds, all microscopic as skin cells and held together with glitter glue. Aro shines like a fucking disco ball in the hot desert sun. The vampire sighs, and sets the paper he is reading (imported, in Italian, and Peter thinks somehow it is he who has been tricked into paying for it) on his lap.

“I suppose you were bound to find out sooner or later,” he says, sounding a little resigned.

“You’re fucking sparkling,” Peter points out, reasonably, he feels.

“My skin does reflect light in a rather different manner than yours does, yes,” Aro acknowledges. 

“You don’t fucking say.”

Peter clambers over the sofa, creeping closer slowly, as if Aro isn’t looking right at him. Although, well, it’s difficult to see exactly right now, what with how blindingly radiant the man’s skin is.

“Is it fair to assume, then, that Lucian has not told you all there is to know about me and my kind?”

“Apparently, yeah,” Peter exclaims, reaching out to touch Aro’s hand, but stopping himself in time.

“You have questions, I assume?”

“Yeah! Mostly they’re just what the actual fuck, Aro?”

The vampire takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself.

“The prevailing theory among my species is that it is a method of attracting prey.”

“What, you sparkle at a human and then they’re all here, suck my blood, you’re so pretty I don’t mind?”

“Something like that, yes,” Aro says, his voice and face obviously pained.

He shifts a little, so his face is in the shade, but one of his hands resting in his lap still glitters. Peter can’t quite tear his eyes away, which he supposes is part of the intended effect.

“More than that, though, it is due to the composition of my skin. What makes it nearly impenetrable-”

“You sure you are?” Peter interrupts, “Because according to Lucian he’s penetrated you plenty.”

He realises too late that, given the their situation, this is not as much of a burn as he would like.

“He has,” Aro agrees, “those were better times. But as I was saying, the same thing that makes my skin so resistant to harm also causes it to reflect direct sunlight in such a way. It is more inconvenient than useful for hunting, but certainly preferable to simply spontaneously combusting as many other strains do.”

“Huh,” Peter says.

He gets out his phone, opens the camera app and looks at Aro on the screen. Perfectly visible. And he’s seen him in mirrors, too.

“So, sunlight can’t hurt you. You appears in mirrors and cameras and things. What other secrets are you keeping?”

Aro spreads his arms wide.

“I am an open book. Ask what you wish to know.”

“Garlic?”

“I can’t eat it, but in the same way I can no longer consume anything that isn’t blood.”

“Okay. Uh, that thing with the counting, I forget what the technical term is. Counting grains of rice and stuff?”

“It’s certainly not anything I or any of my kind I know has experienced.”

“Crucifixes and holy water, then? Can you walk on consecrated ground?”

Aro sighs.

“I am more than a millennia older than Christendom itself, why would it have any power over me? Now, were Athena herself to come down from the Heavens and smite me, that might be different, but your god holds no power over me.”

“He’s not my god,” Peter mutters.

“No? Well, either way.”

“So, no religions at all? I couldn’t repel you with a star of David or anything?”

“No.”

“Huh. All right. Okay. What about- what about travelling across running water unassisted?”

“Perfectly capable of that.”

Peter sits down on the floor, leaning against the back of the sofa, arms on his knees, considering.

“Entering private property without permission?”

“The only thing that stands in my way is your human law, not any supernatural force.”

“Can you turn into stuff? Like wolves and bats and mist and things?”

“Sadly, no. Though that would be terribly convenient. But shapeshifting is our dear Lucian’s forte and his kind alone, I fear.”

“Do you sleep in a coffin?”

“You know I do not, Peter.”

“But have you, though?”

“No.”

“Not even to try it?”

“No.”

“Eh, you’re no fun. You don’t have to carry a bit of gravedirt from your home or anything, then?”

“Certainly not.”

“You’re not all that vampiric,” Peter accuses, “other than the blood drinking these are pretty shitty scores. Vampires aren’t supposed to sparkle.”

“Well, then I am sorry to disappoint you,” Aro says, just a touch bitterly.

Peter doesn’t know why.

“What about hypnotising people, then, can you do that?”

“The concept of hypnotising people was invented by a human in Germany in the late eighteenth century. I am certain I could learn if I tried, but it is not an inherent talent among us.”

“No fun,” Peter reiterates, shaking his head.

“So, wait. If your skin’s all weird, all light reactive and hard and shit, does that mean it’s not skin any more? I mean, it looks… Weird.”

Aro raises his eyebrows.

“I mean, you know. Different than human,”

“Do you want to see for yourself?” Aro asks, extending his hand.

There’s something in his eyes, something not quite right, but Peter is overcome with curiosity, so he too reaches out. The moment their hands touch, his mind goes blank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter one tonight, I am afraid, but it was just long enough to not quite fit with the next bit.


	24. 2014: 1988, 1992, 1994, 1999, et cetera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tilbakeblikk

The thing about someone’s mind and memories is that it is fragmented. A chaotic web of associations and links that make sense primarily to the person to whom the mind belongs, but not to anyone else. Some are obvious. Family, murder, vampire, death. Some less so. And so it is that when Aro reads Peter’s mind, what he gets are the sharpest images, those that hurt the most.

Peter is twelve, and has just gotten home from a friend’s house. They argued, Peter getting irrationally angry that his friend wanted him to try on her cute dress, and he doesn’t know why. His parents makes him wear them sometimes, and they know he hates it, but it’s what you do sometimes. Still. Still. He considers chopping off his long braids with the kitchen scissors, but he worries what people might think.

He parks his bike in the alley behind their house, wondering where the neighbour’s cat who always comes out to demand ear scritches and treacherous belly rubs is. It’s quiet, but that’s not unusual. It’s a quiet street, most days. Lots of old people living nearby. It was Peter’s mum’s mum’s house, but she moved into an old people’s home a few months ago, so they live here now. It still smells a bit like old people in there. Peter hates it.

He goes in and up the stairs, past the flat of the people who live below them, and they too are very quiet. Usually he can hear the vague muttering sound of their telly at this point, but now there is nothing. Perhaps they and their cat both are away. Continuing up the stairs he fishes his key out from the bottom of his school bag, and goes to unlock the door, but finds that it slides open under the faintest of pressure. Weird. He nudges it open with his shoe, expecting to find his mum or dad just inside, in the process of shrugging off their coats, but there’s nothing but deathly silence inside.

The light is on in the bathroom, casting a warm yellow glow onto the floor, but otherwise the flat is bathed in a cold, blue darkness. He wants to turn on the lights, wants to shout, but something inside him, some deeply buried instinct tells him to keep quiet. Kicking off his shoes as quietly as he can (the soles squeak on the floor, dead give away), he sets his backpack down and creeps along the wall. He pauses, trying not to breathe, and hears the faint rustling of something, a hint of movement from his mum and dad’s bedroom. It’s not the gross kind, not like the time last year when he walked in and they were naked and kissing and- ew, no, nothing like that. No breathy sounds at all, but there is faint rustling of fabric, there is a slow dripping noise.

It’s not burglars, he thinks, it can’t be. They wouldn’t be deadly quiet like this, would they? And if that is the case, Peter can get a good look at them, and then hide, and then call the police after they have left, and dad will tell him he’s been good and responsible. Yeah, that’s the plan. Unless it’s just mum, doing something, having one of her sad days again. She forgets things sometimes then.

Closer and closer he creeps, completely silent, sneaky as any of the cool spies in the films, until he can peak around the corner, through where the door is open still. Dad is laying on the bed, but there is something wrong, something in the angle. And there is so much… What is that? Something dark, nearly black, like ink all over the sheets. Everything is shades of blue in the dark autumn night, the window facing away from the street and the cheerful warm lights out there. 

There is a lump in Peter’s throat, like a scream is stuck there, and he knows he should run away, that something is so terribly terribly wrong, but he has too look, and so he leans in, against the door, careful not to push on it and-

Mum is standing behind a strange man. He is embracing her, kissing her neck, and her eyes stare blankly at a spot a little above Peter. Her arms hang down, slack, and there are faint noises coming from the man, wet disgusting noises, and if Peter can lean just a little farther-

The man releases mum, and she crumples to the floor in a heap, a black stain running down from her throat, a dark and growing patch on he jumper. And Peter has seen the scary films, and Peter is not yet grown enough to know in his heart that this isn’t real, so though he is more scared than he has ever been in his life, and ever will be, he is not entirely surprised when the man turns, revealing black eyes, a mouth far too wide for a normal human, filled with innumerable sharp needle fangs, blood running down his face. That terrible maw widens even, impossibly, further, into a horrible grin.

“Hello kid,” the man says, and Peter’s fear is momentarily disrupted by confusion at the man’s voice.

He’s an American. What’s he doing here, in this small village in the south of England? But these thoughts quickly disappears as Peter scrambles, turns, his socks slipping on the floor.

“That’s right kid,” the man says, something awful and wet in his voice, “you run. I’ll give ya a head start, but I’ll be coming!”

Peter runs. He runs and screams and runs, and Aro can’t see any more as the memory fades into panicked obscurity.

-

Peter is outside now, and the ground is a bit farther off. He’s older, and he’s cut his hair to his chin, and he keeps pushing it back, and his friends chide him and tells him it looks boyish, and he is secretly pleased. He is pleased too, that he is growing up tall and thin, not getting curvy like his mates. It feels right and he doesn’t know why.

They’re walking homes, having just finished a particularly hard maths exam, and his friend keeps quizzing Peter on what he thought the final three answers were, but Peter’s gaze and mind both are fixated on the way it looks when she keeps tucking a stray and disobedient lock of hair behind her ear, just how shiny her lip gloss makes her lips look. On how she has opened the top buttons of her shirt and he can see just a little more skin than usual. It will take him another six months to figure out that he’s not straight, and three more to ask her out.

-

Peter is an adult, a proper adult, living alone and everything, after his dad’s mum has declared that that’s it, she didn’t sign up to have any more bloody kids, he can get what inheritance he has coming to him and find his own place to never clean. She didn’t like that he would bring both boyfriends and girlfriends home, he knows. He doesn’t know whether she objects to him liking both, or just his bringing them home. She certainly objects to his clothing choices, and him shaving his head entirely after he failed to give himself a passable mohawk. She objects to his wanting to do music at uni, too, but she can’t do anything about it any more, because Peter’s on his own now.

He stands in front of his new flat. There’s a flatmate, but he’s out, having left it to Peter to do the official key receiving and moving in and stuff. It’s unfurnished, which neither of them considered, and it’s cold and echo-y and the bedrooms have each only got a shitty third hand mattress on the floor, but it’s a kind of freedom. Peter can almost manage to forget the dark shadow of a man he keeps seeing out of the corner of his eye when it’s dark, when he’s scared.

It is another year until he fails out of uni, then six months more until he’s diagnosed with depression, and then another year and a half before he gets up the courage to tell his therapist what it is that’s making him depressed. His flatmate, when Peter tells him, says something to the effect of “yeah, duh.” 

-

Another therapist, two years later, suggests he try to write about his trauma. Which one, he asks, but she doesn’t let him get away with it. That’s the start of it, the start of his show. He doesn’t know it then, of course. His therapist knows that after the death of his parents he invented the vampire as a metaphor, as something easier to deal with than a break in gone wrong, and encourages him to keep that metaphor, if that makes it easier for him. It does. He has consumed every piece of vampire media he can get his hands on, just so he can know. So he can be prepared for when the man comes back for him, as he knows in his heart that he will.

-

Aro sees, Aro sees so much. He sees an entire life lived in fear, in the shadow of that one vampire. He sees Peter moving to America when the crushing presence catches up with him in London, when he can no longer stand to be so close to where it happens. He sees Peter cutting all contact with anyone from back home, sees him calling it a fresh start, and not an attempt to cut himself off from the parts that hurt. Aro watches as Peter gets lucky, one night, sleeping with a guy who gets him a job in Vegas, sees him work his way up until he can pitch his show to the right producer. Sees the success of it, sees Peter become blinded by his own good fortune.

Peter continues researching vampires, contacting scholars and folklorists and ghost hunters, anything that can get him closer to the truth, only now it is under the guise of having a well researched show. He sleeps with most of the young women playing vampires and victims in the show, and gains a reputation for being a pretty terrible colleague. He has always enjoyed a drink, enjoyed a taste of whatever shady shit someone will hand him in exchange for a few bills in a blue lit night club bathroom, but now he has the means, it gets worse.

Aro sees him spiralling down until 2011, until Jerry comes back into his life with sudden violence. He sees the whole that Ginger’s death leaves in him, sees how hard the judgement of a single teenager hits, how guilty Peter feels when he has to let himself really think about things. Sees how the confrontation leads him to find some inner courage, some purpose. Sees the reappearance of Jerry and feels as Peter feels the absolute and overpowering terror.

They are getting closer, now, to the present time. Aro sees Peter meet Lucian, and fall for him almost immediately. Sees the hurt of learning his true nature, the terror of being faced with another monster, of being lied to, but he also sees how it takes Peter all of two days to genuinely start to miss him. He sees Lucian as he appears to Peter; mysterious and ancient and beautiful. Magical. A bigger monster to protect him from those who lurk outside in the dark.

The last flash Aro sees before he lets go is that night in the vampire nest. He sees the way Lucian and Aro tower over Peter, to utterly inhuman creatures, drenched in blood with bared fangs, advancing on him, sees how it echoes so much else in his life. And for a moment, he thinks he understands.

-

“Ah, ow!” Peter exclaims, shuffling back until he crashes into the sofa, his hand cradled to his chest as if burnt.

“What the fuck was that? What did you do to me?”

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Aro promises, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Perhaps there was a bit of static electricity? I simply touched you, Peter.”

“It- That was not- That’s not fucking what that was, you asshole.”

They are interrupted by the sound of the doors to the lift opening, followed by footsteps, and the sound of someone setting down several very heavy somethings. Lucian appears in the doorway moments later, looking from the two of them to the sun streaming in through the window, and back to were Peter sits curled up as if hurt.

“What happened?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this doesn't read too badly.


	25. 2014: Repercussions of Tactile Telepathy

“What’s going on?” Lucian asks.

He looks back and forth between Aro and Peter, his two loves who he worries one day are going to try to kill each other. Who maybe have, given the sunshine pouring in through the window. A little bit of the sunlight hits Aro’s skin, and he sparkles like the beautiful gem he is, but Peter is crouched on the floor, holding his arm to his chest as if he’s been hurt.

“We’ve just been learning more about each other,” Aro says with a disarming smile.

Which means he has read Peter’s mind. That’s what that is about. It’s an unsettling feeling, when you don’t know it’s coming, when you haven’t experienced it before, Lucian knows that.

“The light?” Lucian asks, nodding towards the window.

“Just an accident,” Peter mutters, looking at the floor.

Lucian looks at Aro, questions in his eyes. The vampire nods almost imperceptibly. Lucian feels bad for doubting Peter, he really does, but how can he not? Just a tiny little bit?

“Do you, Aro, my dear, perhaps want to tell Peter what you did?” Lucian asks gently.

“Hah!” Peter exclaims, pointing an accusing finger at the vampire, “you admit you did something!”

Aro gives Lucian a look.

“He will not like it,” Aro says in Romanian.

“I know,” Lucian replies in the same.

“He might throw me out.”

“He might try. He knows I owe you. Knows I won’t want him to. Besides, didn’t do it over that human you killed. It would be hypocritical of him to do it over this, would it not?”

“Perhaps,” Aro agrees.

Peter is looking between them with narrowed and suspicious eyes, but he hasn’t, for once, said anything, though Lucian realises the human knows they’re talking about him.

“Why did you do it?” Lucian asks, wanting to put off the inevitable argument for just a little bit.

He is so tired of this animosity, so tired of being torn between his two loves who so despise each other. But he knows people don’t, generally, accept that you can love several people at once without loving each less. Knows that if you do, you’re unfaithful. Cheating. Not just filled with so much love it cannot be contained.

“I want to know why you love him,” Aro answers simply.

Lucian frowns.

“Then why would you read his mind and not mine?”

“Oh, my dear, I know your mind. I wanted to know what it is about him, specifically. And, well, I wanted to better understand his hatred of me and my kind.”

“And do you?”

Aro’s façade falters for a moment, and there is emotion in those golden eyes.

“Yes.”

“All right,” Peter says, “any of you gonna let me know what you’re whispering about all secret?”

“Yes,” Lucian says, switching back to English, “we are.”

He gives Aro a meaningful look, and the vampire seems for a moment as if he is going to refuse, but then he sighs, and turns to face Peter.

“A thing I didn’t tell you about my strain of vampirism is that when we are turned, a particular skill or talent we have as humans is enhanced. For most, this just means they go from being reasonably good at something to being exceptional at it, be it a physical skill or an intellectual or interpersonal one. But for some- for a few among us, it becomes a true supernatural power.”

“And let me guess, you’re one of the lucky few, are you?”

“I am.”

“Course you would be. Lucian wouldn’t fall for any but the most talented of vampire royalty, after all.”

He doesn’t look at Lucian as he says this, but it hurts anyway. Perhaps more.

“What is it, then?” Peter prompts.

“As a human, I was always quite perceptive, socially. I was understanding, empathetic. I knew how to read people, I understood them.”

“Then how did you come to be such an absolute asshole?” Peter demands.

“Natural talent,” Aro says with a fanged smile, “but no. I can… When I touch people, I can see into their minds.”

Peter’s eyes go wide. He tries to scramble further back, but he is already against the sofa.

“Like- all of it? Or hear my thoughts?” Peter asks with a shaky voice.

“All of it,” Aro admits.

Peter’s eyes, already large, widens even further, whites visible all the way around. He gets up and leaves, his movements quick but uneasy. Lucian and Aro watch him go.

“What?” Aro says, “did you want me to lie?”

Lucian groans, and sits down on the sofa next to him. He leans his head back and looks up at the ceiling, as if it might hold all the answers, the solution he needs.

“No.”

“Do you have to antagonise him so, Aro? I realise he is not being particularly welcoming, but you promised me you would try.”

“I _am_ trying,” Aro protests.

“By invading his privacy?”

“By trying to understand him.”

Lucian turns his head enough to look at his friend and lover of so many centuries.

“You can’t- You can’t just skip all the bits of getting to know a person like that.”

Aro cocks his head to the side.

“I can, though. I just did.”

Lucian lets out a growl of frustration.

“You shouldn’t, then. It’s one-sided, it’s unfair. It’s cruel to pull someone’s secrets right out of them.”

“You always let me,” Aro says, but he no longer sounds like he’s arguing.

“Because I didn’t realise I had a choice until it was too late.”

“I know.”

“Of course you know. That’s my whole point.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, Lucian stewing in his irritation, working up the courage to go and talk to Peter, to find out what’s wrong. He doesn’t understand the human’s reaction. Had thought Peter would be furious, but instead he just seemed scared.

“I’m sorry,” Aro murmurs softly.

Which is shocking enough to sit up, to make Lucian turn to face him entirely.

“I’m sorry I’ve continued to read your mind even though I know you would rather I not. I am sorry I read Peter’s. It’s… It is hard to resist, when you have the ability, and I have gotten, I think, a little too used to it. To the convenience of being able to know someone at the smallest touch. To needing to have that advantage on both my allies and enemies. But you are not my ally. You are my- well. My friend, I suppose, now. I ought to trust you more. To not need to check to make sure you still care for me.”

Lucian takes Aro’s hand in his, squeezes it.

“Is that why you haven’t, yet? Read my mind, after you got here? Because you worry you will find that I no longer care for you?”

“Perhaps.”

He leans in to kiss Aro’s cool, smooth cheek.

“Thank you. You are not entirely forgiven, but I appreciate that this is hard for you, and that you are trying, my love.”

He takes a deep breath, and squeezes Aro’s hand again.

“All right. I’m going to go see how hard you’ve traumatised Peter.”

“Oh,” says Aro, almost cheerfully, “he’s been through much worse.”

-

Lucian finds Peter in their bedroom, sat on the floor with a bottle of wine next to him, half empty already. It is, he recognises, as physically far from Aro he can be while not leaving the penthouse. His heart breaks for him, just a little more. Lucian settles next to him, just an inch or so away, not touching.

“Are you all right?”

“No,” Peter says, “no I am not fucking all right.”

But all the same, he slides to the side enough that he can rest his head on Lucian’s shoulder.

“Why didn’t you warn me?”

Lucian twists his head to kiss Peter’s hair.

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully.

“I think partly I thought it might make you throw him out at once, and also I simply didn’t think to. I’ve gotten so used to him knowing me, all of me, always.”

“How can you look him in the eye when you know he knows everything about you, all your thoughts and feelings?”

Lucian takes the bottle from Peter’s hand, takes a long drink.

“I find it freeing, sometimes. To know that he knows everything about me, and still accepts me, still loves me. That he fell in love with me, either despite or because of knowing my most intimate thoughts and secrets, that he knows me as well as I know myself.”

“But aren’t there things you are ashamed of? Thoughts and memories you don’t want to share?”

“Of course,” Lucian agrees, “but he knows them and it doesn’t make him love me less. He accepts me and all that I am.”

“That does sound like a nice certainty to have.”

“It is. But I have asked him to stop, I did so a few centuries ago, and mostly he has. Hasn’t read my mind at all since we met him here.”

“Why not?”

“I think he is afraid that I don’t love him any more.”

“And do you?”

Lucian wrestles for a moment with his feelings, with the worry of consequences, but holding back truths hasn’t been helpful so far, so he admits the truth.

“I do.”

Peter makes an unhappy noise, but doesn’t move away.

“And I love you, my dear. I love you both. That doesn’t mean- it doesn’t dilute my feelings for you, or mean that I care any less, or that I am going to leave you or cheat on you.”

“But you want to.”

“I don’t ever want to do anything that would hurt you, Peter, you must know that.”

“Must I?” Peter asks, turning to look at him with eyes that are big and wet.

Lucian places a hand on his cheek and looks into his eyes.

“You must. I love you, Peter, and nothing is going to change that.”

He leans into the touch and closes his eyes, placing his own hand over Lucian’s.

“But you want to?”

“Want to what?”

“Be with him also?”

“I do. But I know that will hurt you, so I am not going to. We all want things it would be better not to want sometimes, but I don’t think it is fair to judge that, rather than our actions.”

“Isn’t it? Is it wrong to be upset that my boyfriend is in love with another man?”

“It is not wrong to be upset, my love. But I have known Aro for centuries, and loved him for centuries. Those sorts of feelings don’t disappear.”

“So, what, in your ideal world we share you, is that it?”

“No, Peter. But I wish that you would get along a little better. I’ve tried to talk to Aro about it, and whether or not you believe it, that was what he was trying to do.”

“Get along with me by stealing my thoughts?”

“Getting to know and understand you. Which yes, I agree, a terrible way to go about it without asking, but his intent was good.”

“Good intentions don’t make it okay.”

“I know. I told him. He did apologise. Which isn’t enough either, of course, but for him, it’s a lot.”

“How the fuck did I end up in a relationship this complicated?” Peter asks, taking the wine bottle back and making an impressive attempt at emptying it in one go.

“I don’t know, my love. I don’t know.”

“It’s just, my whole life has gotten so fucking wild, y’know? I mean, I spent so much time after my parents died having people telling me I was crazy, so much so that I almost believed them at times. And then I just. Then life was fine, was normal for so long. And now, now everything’s fucking batshit again. My boyfriend is an immortal werewolf –sorry- and his old boyfriend, a much much more ancient immortal vampire who needs to live in my flat and whom abovementioned werewolf boyfriend still loves and just. What the fuck, man? What the actual fuck?”

“I know, my love, I know.”

Peter finished off the bottle, and lets it roll out of his hand and under the bed, where it clinks against another. Lucian pulls Peter into an embrace, resting his chin atop the human’s head.

“I do love you, Lucian. And I do trust you, as much as I can. And it’s hard, you know. To trust. Especially someone who’s not human. But I do.”

“I know. And I love you.”


	26. 2014: Despair in the Desert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one has a good time

The desert sun shines high above, bright and mercilessly hot. Some sort of insect buzzes, zooming back and forth around Peter’s head. He is alone.

  
Lucian, unsurprisingly, enjoys hiking, and has made Peter come with him a few times, staying out there in the wilderness overnight. No amount of making jokes about Peter taking his wolf for walkies has been enough to dissuade Lucian from bringing him out here. And look, Lucian has lived in the woods, he’s half wolf, for goodness sake, but Peter is not an outdoorsy person. He doesn’t like to be anywhere with a population less than a million, and certainly not camping. It’s uncomfortable, inconvenient, and far from any fun clubs. But right now, it’s what he needs. Solitude. Time to think. A mosquito stealing all his blood like some kind of discount vampire. Fuck. Peter hates the outdoors.

  
He makes camp a place they’ve been before, together. Well, makes camp is perhaps too optimistic a way to phrase it. He dumps his oversized backpack on the ground, pulls out a can of beer and sits in a shady spot and drinks. Stares out at the endless plains stretching out before him.

  
There’s a rocky outcropping that makes a sort of shaded, safe spot where he can put up his tent, after. Some sort of small bird is perched on a dry bush. It looks at him, its tiny eyes filled with judgement. 

  
“Fuck off,” he tells it.

  
It whistles some bird noise in response. He makes a face at it. The outside sucks, but he needs to be somewhere far from both Lucian and Aro, to sort out how he feels. It’s not like it was a surprise that Lucian still has feelings for Aro, it has been written across his face, plain in how he talks about him, in his actions, but to have him say it out loud was still rough. And look. Peter’s got nothing against people being poly, that’s a legit way to be, but he wishes it was something he had known getting into this relationship, because he’s not entirely sure he’s got the emotional fortitude to share. Especially not with Aro.

  
The rock is uncomfortable, so he starts emptying his backpack, pulling loose his sleeping bag and arranging it into something like a chair. He puts on some good loud music on his phone, the sound echoing off the stone. Sits down again. He’s got three full powerbanks with him, ready to escape from being alone with his thoughts if need be. 

  
For the last two days he’s been trying to process what Aro did to him, what he took from him. His life, his memories, everything he is. It’s not something he had the right to, but is it worse than murder? It feels like it. But Lucian has let him do it. What does that mean?

  
Aro in the day before Peter left hadn’t treated him any differently, hadn’t looked at him in disgust. He hadn’t confronted him about any of the embarrassing shit he has no doubt seen inside him. Maybe he’s biding his time. Maybe he waited until Peter left, and is busy right now telling Lucian all his dirty secrets. But no. No Lucian wouldn’t- he wouldn’t leave him over something like that, would he? Fuck, maybe going out here was a bad choice.

  
**Peter** : Lucian u wanna join me out here? Place we went 2 monthsago?

  
But the fucking message won’t send. Because this is the fucking outdoors and there’s no fucking reception and all he’s got is the rocks stretching out before him, a couple bottles of beer and the beginnings of a headache.

  
**Peter** : I miss u. The outdoors suck.

  
**Peter** : these wont send but listen babe the outdoors suck so much. Sucks moee without you tho.

  
Peter hates it. Hates feeling insecure about being alone, despite it having always been the case. Cause the monsters don’t attack when there’s other people there, do they? Only they had. Jerry had. Because monsters don’t care. They will attack anyway, they come and they terrorise and they consume.

  
-

  
“Do you remember Berlin?” Aro asks, and Lucian smiles.

  
“Of course. Start of the century. Good time.”

  
He feels a little guilty, sitting here, talking about the old days, when Peter is out there, probably drunk and miserable. But it is very nice to spend time with Aro also. They talk of their rare meetings together for a long while, lounging on the big sofa in Peter’s living room. And it’s a long while before Aro asks the question Lucian has been expecting for a few months now.

  
“Do you think you think you will turn him?”

  
Lucian sighs, and his gaze drops to the floor. Aro puts a hand over one of Lucian’s, apologetic and supportive.

  
“It can be a difficult decision, but you do seem to love him.”

  
“It’s only been two years since we met,” Lucian says, feeling helpless.

  
“Yes,” Aro agrees, “but you love him. And he loves you.”

  
Lucian looks up into Aro’s eyes, now golden once more.

  
“You saw?”

  
Aro nods. His cool hand curls around Lucian’s. 

  
“He looks at you the way I do.”

  
-

  
It has gotten dark, and Peter has typed out twenty texts to Lucian that aren’t sending. Some of them are just a lot of heart emojis and wolf emojis. One is a vampire emoji and a sun emoji. Granted this is apparently no more damaging to Aro than it is to Peter, or, well, less damaging, given the asshole can’t get skin cancer. But still, the intent is probably clear.

  
He has put the tent up, and his head hurts pretty bad, but drinking water and not being super dehydrated is for lesser men. His phone is plugged into the first powerbank, now, and the music is calmer and sadder. His usual playlists have a lot of songs about longing and wolves, curated in the last year and a half, mostly, obviously, and they fit the mood. 

  
The rock is hard and uncomfortable beneath him, the cushioning of the sleeping bag definitely not enough, and now that it is night proper, he misses the warmth of Lucian next to him. Either arms wrapped around him, lips pressed to his neck, or a large and comforting furry mass next to him. Which is the thing, isn’t it? He is so deeply, hopelessly in love with Lucian. So much his chest hurts thinking about it. So much so that bringing up a photo of him on his phone almost makes him tear up with the intensity of it. How could he ever want to do anything that makes Lucian sad? How could anyone?

  
-

  
“You still haven’t said,” Aro points out, uncharacteristically gentle.

  
“I haven’t.”

  
“But you’ve thought about it, yes?”

  
“Of course. How could I not?”

  
Aro nods. He, of course, has turned many people. As has Lucian. That’s not new. Turning someone you love, though. Turning someone so you won’t have to watch then wither away and die, and in such a way binding them to you for the rest of time. It’s an intense bond, and a difficult decision.

  
“And?”

  
“And he won’t want to, for one,” Lucian says.

  
Which is avoidance. But it still is true.

  
“He won’t. He remains absurdly attached to his humanity, despite its many tragedies.”

  
Lucian throws his head back in frustration, running a hand through his hair. 

  
“How was it for you? When you were human? When you were turned? Giving up your humanity?”

  
Aro’s eyes soften, warm liquid gold, comforting despite their relative unfamiliarity like this. Opals rather than rubies.

  
“It was the easiest of choices for me. The chance to live forever? To see history? But vampires were never part of my nightmares, never the monsters who hid just outside the corner of my vision. There were a lot of tales of monsters, of course, but none quite like either of us. And I have seen in his memories, the grotesque monstrosities he has encountered, what he thinks vampires I like.”

  
“I don’t think the grotesque looks are his main concern, Aro.”

  
Aro smiles that small and incongruously sweet smile of his. The one that shows just a hint of fang.

  
“Perhaps not.”

  
-

  
Peter is tired. Peter is sad. Peter’ head hurts like fuck and there are no nice wolf men here to kiss it better. There is a mosquito buzzing around outside the tent, lurking like some kind of vampire. Lucian hasn’t responded to any of his text, although given that he still doesn’t have any reception is probably more to blame than his favourite lycan.

  
He’s angry at Aro, of course he is. How could he not be? But it’s not a rage, it’s a resentful anger. Never quite the fire he would have expected to have. He’s angry at himself, too. For being weak. For letting himself get into all of this, for getting to a point where his life depends upon the mercy of a vampire for the third time. A monstrous being who has killed and eaten thousands upon thousands of people. But then, if someone like Lucian loves him, how can he be that bad? If he is that bad, how can Lucian love him? Because it is just humans he kills? Because Lucian himself never has been? And that’s a thought, isn’t it, that the thing Aro and Peter have in common with each other but not Lucian is humanity?

  
-

  
“I want to. I want him to live forever, of course I do. I don’t, selfishly, want to watch him die.”

  
“Of course you don’t. But he is nearly as old as I was when I was turned. You don’t have forever to make the decision. I’m not even certain what would happen if you were to turn someone old and frail.”

  
“They don’t usually survive the process. And it’s not my decision, it’s his.”

  
Lucian has gotten out a bottle of wine now, because he has a lot of feelings, and though Aro does genuinely seem to be trying to help, that isn’t entirely the effect.

  
“Of course,” says Aro, sounding not the least as if he means it.

  
“Do you think,” he asks, with a pensive look, “that his having been, however briefly, turned previously would help or hinder the process?”

  
“I don’t know,” Lucian replies, “I’ve never heard of anyone being cured of vampirism before.”

  
Aro gives him a look.

  
“Not that it is a disease to be cured. You know what I meant.”

  
“But it tempts you more, doesn’t it? Creating a hybrid species, like you always dreamed of?”

  
Lucian nods.

  
“It does, but less so than before. I don’t think I told you; just before my near death, a hybrid was created. One of Corvinus' mortal descendants. Bitten first by me, later by a vampire.”

  
“But you wanted to make yourself into one, as I recall.” 

  
“I did. But knowing one is out there, knowing the two species can be joined, it is something.”

  
“Did it feel good?”

  
Lucian drinks some more wine to put off having to give an answer. Aro watches him, quite neutral, though Lucian knows him too well.

  
“Not quite as much as I had hoped. So much was lost that night that when I woke up my thoughts were more occupied with the defeat than the success.”

  
“Your pack,” Aro says, quite sympathetically. 

  
“My pack. And I know you know how I feel, you must have gone through the same.”

  
“I did,” says Aro, “though I am not sure I cared as deeply for them as you your pack.”

  
“Nonsense.”

  
“Lucian,” Aro says, emphatically, cupping Lucian’s face in his hands, “you are a far better man than me, and we both know it.”

  
Lucian squirms, uncomfortable with the praise, but unable too to refute it with facts. 

  
“So what will you do? About him, about the two of you?”

  
About us. It hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken. Lucian shakes his head.

  
“I don’t know.”


	27. 2014: On the Downsides of Mortality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has a less bad time, but remain somewhat mopey and introspective still

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, there's some suicidal ideation and mention of related themes in this chapter, so, you know, trigger warning for that. Realise I've been bad with those, but if you feel something of that kind is missing, please feel free to let me know. I know how upsetting to have at the very least panic attacks triggered by incredibly specific and never tagged things, so fully understanding of that sort of thing.

It is a dark day, clouds heavy and impenetrable, and, for once, Aro has gone out during the day. He sits at a café reading an Italian newspaper he had to look for far too long to be able to find a place to buy, and on his table is an untouched cup of espresso, for show, to justify his presence. There are no news that explains what has happened, and though staying with Lucian has lessened his urgency, it still worries him.

Despite the dark weather, he wears a pair of sunglasses he has borrowed from Peter. Or, well, borrowed implies permission. A pair of sunglasses, then, that he has temporarily stolen from Peter. Because though his golden eyes are, as the human says, a bit less creepy than his normal red, and though he could make the argument that they are contacts if no one looks too closely, he still doesn’t want to draw any more attention to himself than he has to. His pale as marble skin, made to stand out all the more by the contrast of his long dark hair and exquisitely expensive black, already makes him quite striking. Weird formal goth, Peter thinks of it as. As if often the case with the last person whose mind he read, especially as thoroughly as he did Peter’s, he finds the human’s thoughts and feelings popping up randomly. It will wear of, of course, but for the first few days it is quite intense. Like Rogue in X-Men, the residue of Peter’s mind supplies. Aro has no idea what this means, and refuses to find out.

Aro sees the waitress glance at his untouched coffee and then at the clock on the wall, and with the faintest of glares she cannot see he lifts the cup to his lips. Darts his tongue out to taste, only taste, never consume. It’s not up to his standards, but he does so like very occasionally getting to experience a flavour that isn’t blood. 

The newspaper talks about a recent political scandal in Naples, but Aro only recognises a handful of names, and though his eyes keep moving along the page, his mind drifts. The thing about reading someone’s mind, absorbing it, is that it’s a lot of information to process. So he finds himself searching, filtering through endless angst and drunken mistakes until he finds the more relevant parts, those that concern vampires. Those that concern him.

Through Peter’s eyes, Aro and Lucian truly look somewhat similar. Not enough to seem related, but certainly, there are a few traits they have in common, which, as the human suggested, might become more pronounced if they were styled similarly. What it also confirms, is that, given this similarity, Peter does to some degree find Aro attractive, even though this is primarily due to this likeness. He knows as well, now, that Peter finds the way his skin reacts to the sun to be both stunningly beautiful and quite ridiculous. It is enough, for now. It is sufficiently gratifying, and no doubt something he can hold over the human’s head later, if need be.

Aro doesn’t want Peter to hate him. This is a sudden and not entirely welcome revelation. The animosity is fun, of course, still. Humans are amusing to toy with, and Peter more so than most, but still Aro finds he wants it to stay shallow. Playful. He doesn’t want the fear, the bone deep hatred, the disgust at what Aro is, what he does. He wants... what does he want? Does he want Peter to like him? Has Lucian so affected him that his love for the lycan has bled into love for the both of them?

No. Gods no. He doesn’t love Peter, he can’t. He doesn’t even _like_ him. The human is absolutely insufferable, and vain, and selfish, and so absurdly against vampires that the very thought of Aro fills him with disgust. Aro knows this, knows it intimately. And to his shame and frustration the knowledge fills him with sadness, rather than satisfaction.

-

“There were other options, you know,” Lucian tells Peter. 

The human is resting his head on Lucian’s chest, slack and unmoving, sated, having barely bothered to move off of Lucian.

“Hmm?”

“Than going to the outdoors you so hate. You could have gotten a hotel room. Gone to a spa. I’m sure you have friends with whom you could have stayed.”

Peter makes an uncomfortable noise.

“Or was punishing yourself an essential part of it?”

Peter makes another, far more uncomfortable noise, which Lucian interprets as a yes. He strokes his hand through Peter’s hair, soft and longer now, than ever. It suits him, Lucian thinks, quite well.

“Needed to be alone,” Peter mutters, leaning into Lucian’s touch.

“Which could only be achieved in the wilderness?”

Peter makes a noise of agreement.

“Temptation to big otherwise.”

“What temptation?”

“To find someone to talk to, to fuck around on the internet and shit, to put something on Netflix or whatever and then I wouldn’t have had time to think.”

“Did you? Think sensible thoughts?”

“Oh, not at all,” Peter assures him, and Lucian laughs and leans forward enough to press a kiss to his hair.

He is still a while, a finger doodling patterns against Lucian’s side. 

“What do you think the two of you would have done, you know, if we hadn’t met him here?”

“Aro?”

Peter nods into Lucian’s chest.

“Well, he was convinced I was dead. And I? I would… Well, you know I worried for him, after the news of the fight involving his coven.”

“Sure, yeah, but if you hadn’t heard, if you just assumed everything was fine?”

Lucian thinks for a while, trying to work out what might have been.

“I would have tried again eventually, to look him up.”

“How eventually? Like, after we broke up? Or I died, whichever came first?”

“Peter-”

“What? ‘S gonna happen, isn’t it? You’re immortal and I’m not.”

His voice feels like an accusation, but Lucian doesn’t know what he wants him to say. Peter has made it very clear that being human is important to him, and it’s not as if Lucian can stop being a lycan. And he doesn’t think Peter would want him to kill himself when he died, he’s not that selfish. So. So what?

“I- yes. I suppose. It is not something I like to think about.”

“But you have to, right? I’m gonna grow old and wither and die, and you’re gonna stay like this, entirely perfect, all the while. Forever.”

“Does that bother you?”

“That if we stay together, eventually I’ll look old enough to be your dad? A fucking bit, yeah.”

Lucian strokes his cheek.

“Would you want me to be human? So we could grow old together?”

“Kind of yeah, but when you say it like that it’s like me saying yes, I want you to die. Which, y’know, course I don’t want you to die.”

“I know, I know what you mean, my love. I’m not trying to trap you into saying something stupid, you know.”

“I know. But I mean. I never thought I’d get old at all. I thought I’d be dead by now. Thought I’d be dead before thirty, to be honest. Twenty-seven, that’s when all the cool people go, isn’t it? That was my original plan. Maybe be a rockstar or something cool, party a lot, and then die in some cool way. Dramatic. Car crash, be stabbed at a party, an overdose of something real nice.”

Lucian wonders if Peter can hear his heart breaking, because he looks up at him.

“Not gonna off myself,” he promises, as if guessing where Lucian’s mind is being railroaded.

“My love…”

Lucian wraps his arms around Peter, crushing him to his chest.

“Luciannn-” Peter complains, squirming against his grip.

“’M just saying I don’t know. You make me want, you know, not die, which is nice, but inevitably gets me thinking about that fact that I will and you won’t.”

Lucian bites his tongue to stop himself suggesting the very obvious solution for making Peter not have to age and die. He knows it, and Peter does too, but if neither of them brings it up it doesn’t need to be discussed, the fight doesn’t need to be had. Not yet, anyway.

“I think it’ll feel fucking weird growing older while you don’t. What if I lose my hair?”

“You already wear a wig every evening,” Lucian points out, and Peter makes a frustrated noise. 

“S’pose, yeah,” he agrees, seemingly against his will.

“But all your, you know, loves or whatever have been immortal. Never had to watch any of them age.”

“But I have had to watch them die.”

“Yeah, all right. That’s pretty bad also, yeah, I know, but it’s different. Can spur a couple centuries of bloody warfare in a quest for revenge about that. Age is just inevitable and sad.”

It doesn’t have to be. I doesn’t have to be, it doesn’t have to be, it doesn’t have to be. He thinks it so loud he worries Peter might hear.

-

No, no the solution is to wait it out. Lucian will tire of the human, and if not, well, how long is a human life span anyway? A few decades more at most? Aro can be patient. He is used to getting what he wants when he wants it, that much is true, but he has lived long enough that he can survive waiting a few more years for Lucian to be all his again. No matter what the insistent inner voice that doesn’t belong to him says. The inner voice that talks about sharing. About how it might not be all that bad, not being the only one for Lucian.

It was easier before, was the thing. When they both had their own people to defend and govern and deal with, but right now it seems as if they are both on their own, adrift and without purpose. Of course, Aro keeps trying to get in contact with his people, but it is difficult. The thing, of course, about living in secret is that when you try to find information through regular channels there simply isn’t any. 

He leaves the café, walking out into the cloudy, humid warmth of Vegas. He has bought a coat with a large hood, just for safety, which tragically doesn’t work with his suit at all, but he really really does not want to be observed in the light of the sun. He pulls it up, and is very obviously overdressed for the heat, but temperature doesn’t affect him much any more. He is always just whatever the ambient temperature is. Which is part of why Lucian feels so nice. Makes him feel just a little bit alive again.

There is very little Aro misses about being human, but the freedom to move about in the open is one thing. To be able to blend in. He envies Lucian and other lycans this. To have immortality but without the more obvious drawbacks. His love doesn’t even have to transform into his more beastly shape at all any more, if he doesn’t want to. He is a little weaker, yes, easier to hurt, but he still heals, is still formidable in a fight when he needs to be. It doesn’t seem a bad kind of creature to be at all, and frankly Peter’s reluctance is absurd.

-

Peter knows. He knows exactly what Lucian is thinking, but he knows also why he won’t say it aloud. It’s the same reason he hasn’t brought it up himself. He knows it will lead to a fight, knows it will be frustrating. And if they both know how it will end, what is the point? But oh, it was so much easier not to think about it before Lucian’s immortal vampire lover showed up. Before he was all oh, it’s fine, you can have him for now, but in a few years when you die he’ll be mine once again. Not that Aro’s said that yet, not aloud, but Peter knows it’s what he thinks.  
He’s in his dressing room now, a make up lady helping to glue his fake facial hair on just right. He never could get the hang of growing it just the way he wants to. Easier this way. Easier too to not look like his on stage persona all the time. It’s useful not to match ones posters when one just wants to go out incognito.

Their talk was a few hours ago, but he’s thinking about it still. Lucian probably is too. Or talking it over with Aro. The bloodsucker came in just around dusk, and so Peter was for once on time for his pre-show prep, shocking everyone involved. On time _and_ sober? He’d snapped at a few of them who made a bit too big a deal of it. Good to keep them on their toes. He’s the boss and he won’t be made fun of. At least not to his face.

But is it so wrong, though, to not want to become monstrous? To, for someone who has felt wrong and different in so many ways already to not want to further lean into it? Is it wrong when you have spent so much time wanting to die, even tried it a few times, to not want to sign up for immortality? For obvious reasons he doesn’t want to become a vampire, but becoming a lycan doesn’t seem all that great either. Sure, it’s fine for Lucian, it’s all he’s ever been, and he can control it, but he’s admitted it was literal centuries before he was able to stop himself from turning at the full moon, and god, those changes? Much as Peter appreciates soft furry and sort of still slightly terrifying looking Lucian on occasion, the process itself looks horrific.

The thing is, when someone tells you that you’re already bad and wrong, you don’t necessarily want to give them more reason to. And people have told Peter that a lot, for a variety of reasons. Some more valid than others. And though he’s sure it would be empowering for some, reclaiming the otherness, the monstrosity that has been thrust upon them, that’s just not it for Peter. He wants to, more so than he currently can, control the way people see him. Which is why he keeps firing his PR people. They get it wrong. Everyone gets it wrong, in some way. Even Lucian gets it wrong a little bit. And okay, sure, Peter fucks it up himself too sometimes, but that’s different. That’s his own choice. 

The make up lady, whose name Peter forgets, he’s terrible with names but he remembers, for obvious reasons, the cool wolf tattoo on her upper arm, brushes through his wig a few times, styles it just so, long fake locks draping in the most flattering way possible. Tells him to close his eyes so she can do his eyeliner properly artfully messy and smoked out, just a little bit of eyeshadow to accentuate it.

“Ready?” She asks.

“Yup. Show time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, sometimes the projecting is a lot. But I hope it is reasonably in character for him anyway. And I've had some thoughts and have more of a solid plan for this fic now. Or, well, not plan, but I have a few more key things I want to have happen which I can slowly work towards.


	28. 2014: Blood Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Aro do some intimate sharing.

The first time Peter has a sex dream about Aro it’s all very typical vampire stuff. Fluttery sheer white curtains, a mist seeping into the room through a crack in the window -Peter’s subconscious evidently does not care at all for the depressingly unclassic nature of Aro’s vampirism, and his conscious agrees, it’s all bullshit, and not nearly goth enough-, heated kisses down his throat and the scraping of fangs in an oddly unfamiliar pattern, they don’t feel like Lucian’s at all. 

That’s the thing, the catalyst, their incredible similarity, that they themselves seem incapable of recognising. Which, he supposes, makes sense. They would have to admit to some impressive levels of narcissism if they did. But it means that in his dreams, some of the time, Peter can’t know entirely whether this is Lucian or Aro. The vibe, though, is clearly Aro’s. The atmosphere like something from Peter’s show, dark, blue lit, a fog machine just out of frame providing rolling mists that make the whole thing feel, appropriately, dreamlike.

He wakes up with a start, panicked, still almost able to feel Aro moving inside him. There is a wet ache between his legs and he feels acutely ashamed, groaning and rolling over to press his face into the pillow. Right. This is it. He can never allow Aro to read his mind again, because if he finds this out he’s going to be fucking insufferable. Well, more than usual, anyway. God. He can’t fucking believe this, can’t believe what’s wrong with his stupid fucking mind and-

“Are you all right?”

Peter yelps, startled, turning to see a sleepy Lucian looking at him with worry. He feels his face heating up with embarrassment and smashes it back into the pillow. Feels the soft touch of Lucian’s lips against his shoulder.

“Bad dream,” he explains, voice muffled.

Lucian sniffs the air.

“You and I have different sorts of nightmares, I think,” he says.

“Come on,” he adds, using a minuscule amount of his vast strength to easily tug Peter too him, turning him over until Peter’s face is pressed into Lucian’s neck. 

Safe and without eye contact, but closer still.

“Yeah?” Peter asks, instead of pointing out the difference between bad dreams and nightmares, because evidently sex dreams can be incredibly bad too, “what are yours about then?”

Lucian hums, thoughtful, his hand rubbing little circles into Peter’s shoulder.

“The usual, I think. Being pursued by hunters and powerless to fight back. All my fangs falling out. Although sometimes there are too many fangs instead, and I can’t close my mouth.”

“Hmm,” says Peter, who belatedly realises that no, Lucian’s nightmares are probably mostly just reliving Sonja’s horrific death, and perhaps he shouldn’t have asked.

Can it still be too soon, six centuries later?

-

Aro is going out, tonight, meeting someone. Not someone he knows, but one of his kind, a vampire who is not part of any coven, but whom is known to the Volturi. Most vampires of their kind are. But she had caught some of the messages Aro has been attempting to send, and, crucially, per her message, had knowledge of what was going on. But that was as specific as she was going to get.

The preparations for this trip had been, well, they had been an experience. Given that he was, after all, still the historic head of the Volturi, it wouldn’t do to show up with golden eyes. It would not do, either, to show up obviously hiding his eyes, that would be as good as openly showing that kind of weakness, showing that he was letting a mortal dictate his life choices. So he had to ask.

“You fucking _what?_?” Peter had, unsurprisingly demanded, while Lucian looked as he would rather be anywhere but here.

“I need some human blood. For subterfuge reasons,” Aro had explained, as calmly and friendly as he could.

It wasn’t very.

“So, what you’re asking my permission? To go out and kill someone?”

Peter is so full of outrage he glows with it. But there’s a little satisfaction in there, too. Aro knows him too well, now, not to see it. Like he’s suddenly on top of the high ground they fight over, only Aro had no idea he though himself knocked to the bottom once more. Interesting. Something to be explored later.

“Not to kill someone,” Aro defends, “but perhaps take a little taste. Or steal from a blood bank. It doesn’t take much, I just need my eyes to be their usual red for this. I accept your dietary requirements for me while I am a guest in your house, but for us it is a sign of weakness.”

“You and your kind a disgusting,” Peter mutters, and again, unbidden, the disapproval stings.

“So?” Aro demands.

“Can’t you just get some red contacts?” Peter asks, sinking down to sit on the arm of a chair, looking particularly sullen.

“They would be able to see the difference. We are somewhat more observant than you humans. Besides, the venom in my eyes dissolves contacts quite rapidly.”

“You fucking what?” Peter demands again, shooting back to his feet.

“Which part are you struggling with? It’s quite a simple concept.”

“The fucking part where your fucking eyes are fucking venomous, you absolute idiot,” Peter says, and something in him seems delighted at this discovery, much as he outwardly grimaces.

“Well, yes. A part of the change that comes over my kind after we are bitten is that most of the, ah, liquid components of our bodies are transformed into a venomous substance.”

Peter laughs, and despite how used Aro has gotten to this absurd mortal, it still puts him off balance a bit. He looks to Lucian for help, but the lycan too is staring at him with baffled curiosity. Ah. He might not have mentioned this to Lucian.

“Don’t, ah, don’t worry, my sweet wolf. Your kind is immune to it.”

“Why would that matter?” demands Peter, before his eyes go wide as he realises.

“Oh, gross. Too much fucking information.”

Aro sighs, watches as Peter visibly struggles to get the image out of his head.

“But,” he says, after a moment, “as you see, contacts are not the solution. I need the real thing.”

“And why should I help you with this, give you my permission or whatever?”

“Because,” Aro faux patiently explains, “the sooner I can make sense of this situation, the sooner I will be able to leave your home.”

“Ah,” Peter says, “right, okay. A fair point, for once.”

“Okay,” he says, frowning, “okay. Sure. You can have some blood. But not from anyone out there, don’t trust you with that. Don’t trust you not to hoard from a blood bank, either. So. Fuck, I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I- So you can have some of mine. And just, just a warning, mate, I’ve been timing your eyes. How long it takes ‘em to go back to gold. So no going out and just casually draining some folks cause your eyes’re already all bloody, yeah?”

Which startles Aro. He had expected him to go for the blood bag alternative, if anything, but to offer up himself? That was more selfless than he had expected of the human, however much the reasoning was his lack of trust in Aro.

“That is- generous of you,” he manages to reply, after a stunned moment.

“Shut up. Lucian, you’ve got some syringes and medical shit, right? I’m not letting this creep touch me again.”

“I, ah. Not quite, but I can certainly get what we need. Give me half an hour?”

“Right. That enough, bloodsucker?”

“That will suffice, yes,” Aro replies with a forced smile.

It is an incredibly tense half hour while they wait for Lucian to go out and get what they need. Peter sits in one corner of the room, pretending to be absorbed in something on his telephone, while occasionally glancing suspiciously up at Aro. As if he would be able to do anything the human would find unacceptable even now, if he takes his eyes of him only a second. Then again, Peter probably finds everything Aro does, up to and including existing, to be unacceptable.

“Why did you do it?” Peter asks eventually.

“Do what?”

“Trick me. Read my brain.”

“I did not trick you, I merely-”

“Shut up.”

“You asked.”

“Yeah but. Give me a real answer, all right? None of this nonsense deflecty shit.”

Aro looks at him for a moment. Deciding.

“Very well, then. It is quite simple. I wished to understand you. To see what has made you hate my kind so violently.”

“Thought Lucian had explained it to you?”

“Not in detail. He thought it best that was left up to you to reveal or not.”

Peter snorts.

“Glad to see you respect his wishes.”

“Ah,” he replies, “well. I do love our dear Lucian, but sometimes he… He doesn’t quite share my priorities.”

“No, I imagine not. Not as big on eating people, for one.”

“No.”

“And don’t call him ours. There is no we. No our.”

“No? Are we not joined in loving him? Have we not that, at least, in common?”

“Not in the same way,” Peter insists.

“Oh, but you forget, I’ve seen inside your mind. Our feelings for him are terribly similar.”

“As if I could. Eww. But fine. Yeah. All right. S’pose he’s good and lovely enough that even a monster like you can’t help but love him.”

“That’s what you think me?”

“As you said, you know it is.”

Aro smiles sadly at that. It is all he can do, he thinks. He does know, intimately well. And it keeps bothering him, but what is the point in trying to be nice? It is far too late for that. Millennia too late. Thousands of victims too late, and he supposes he can’t entirely blame the mortal for that.

Lucian returns not long after, looking between the two of them with obvious worry, as if suspecting they have tried to harm one another in his absence. Well. Not much. He sets out the equipment on the table. Puts on gloves, sterilises everything. He and Aro may be immune to infections and the like, but Peter most certainly is not. Again Aro ponders how Lucian will deal with Peter’s eventual death if he does not turn him by force. Poorly, probably, if history is anything to go by.

Aro watches, as if hypnotised, as the blood gathers in the plastic chamber, bright red and tantalising. He must look hungry, because Peter’s eyes are wide, his heartbeat rapid, worried that Aro will not be able to control himself, will attack. But those fears are baseless. It will take weeks of starvation until he reaches that sort of a desperation. More still for him to become some sort of feral beast, steered only by bloodlust. It has only ever happened once, in his very early days. Before he fully understood what he was, what he must do to survive, and further, what he must do to live.

It fills up only a very small glass, in the end. As it should be. The human hasn’t all that much to spare. He hands it to Aro with a scowl.

“Won’t be able to read my mind from this, will you?”

“I won’t,” Aro promises, “that is the forte of the Corvinus clan. And pack, for that matter.”

“What?” Peter demands.

“Oh, has Lucian not told you? They, both the vampires and lycans, can read memories through blood.”

Lucian looks pained.

“Sort of,” he hedges.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Peter complains.

“Fucking X-Men, the lot of you. Fucking undead mutant freaks. No offence.”

“Some taken,” Aro murmurs, but the human isn’t paying attention.

Lucian, though, gives him a look.

“You know, my love, I would never do that to you.”

“I know. Not like this fucker.”

“Peter.”

“Literally fact. If he’s not playing nice, why should I?”

“To prove you are the better person?” Aro suggests, and Peter actually laughs.

“I am. I already am, by far.”

“Hmm,” Aro says, lifting the glass to his lips and taking the smallest sip.

It’s such a little amount, and likely all the human blood he will get for a while. He has to savour it.

“You are certain the one who tastes the best, at the very least.”

Peter grimaces. 

-

Apparently it gets him somewhere, but the somewhere isn’t good. That’s what Peter gathers, anyway. It has been months since the confrontation in Washington, and apparently without Aro, without any of the other central members of the Volturi, it has all gone to pieces. No one left in the headquarters, apparently. Other factions trying to take control, fighting each other. These are rumours, of course, but it seems likely. Judging by how disappointed Aro is. Peter isn’t sure whether this means he is staying longer or going to Europe to join the fight. 

Peter almost feels bad for him, which is the disturbing thing. He has talked to his therapist about it, and she explained something to him, about how the more familiar we are with something and someone, the more we tend to like them. Which is disgusting. But that must be it. That and h  
is stupid similarity to Lucian. It’s got to be what’s tricking Peter’s brain, because otherwise, the only alternative, would be that he can forgive thousands of years of slaughtering humans based on the guy having a slightly bad time. 

It hurts a little, to see Lucian comforting Aro through it, but then, he has been through something similar. And Lucian never had anyone to comfort him when it happened. Perhaps they are comforting each other? And in that case, well. Peter will be here, in the other end of the apartment, tweeting angrily to his thousands of followers. Alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry I took a little break from this one. Started a new Crowley/Aziraphale human-adjacent au, so check that out if you're into that sort of thing. Second topmost thing on my page I guess. It's got lots of snake Crowley. Anyway, gonna switch it up a little between the two, so probably might be updates on this every other day rather than almost every. Unsure. Depends on how much stuff and work I have.  
> Also, I'm on chapter 28 and one of the main pairings still barely tolerate each other. Hmm.


	29. 2014: Howling at the Moon is a Legitimate Coping Technique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucian struggles with their situation

It is a full moon, and Lucian is running through the wilderness. The ground is hard and dry beneath his paws, the blood of a small rabbit growing sticky in the fur around his mouth. He is on the hunt for something bigger, something that presents even a modicum of challenge. He catches, as the wind turns, the faint scent of something. Deer? No. Goat? Something similar. His claws burrow deep into the ground as he forcibly slows himself down enough to turn, to follow it.

It’s good, being out here. Being wild. Being allowed to hunt and kill and devour. To tear into living flesh with his fangs and claws, to express the frustration he occasionally feels, to take it out on something. He works so very hard not to show this side to Peter. It’s fine with Aro, and in fact Lucian has wondered whether it’s part of the appeal for the vampire, but- But he doesn’t want Peter to think of him like this. Like this thing of wrath and violence that he sometimes is. He wants to be good for Peter. Soft, and kind, and all the things he has not been able to be for so long. But it’s a challenge. There is too much instinct in him. Too much of the cornered animal.

When he catches up, it’s some sort of sheep. Which is close to a goat, at the very least. He is getting rusty. It panics as it notices him, far too late. Lucian slows down, just enough to let it get a little ahead, to trick it into thinking it has a chance. To let this hunt be just a little more fun. Is it cruel? Perhaps. But no worse than another animal might be.  
  
He catches it not so much later, tearing into it. Begins with ripping out its throat, drinking down the rich, hot blood that spills from the gaping wound. Cuts open the stomach with sharp claws, getting at the gently steaming and soft insides.

What he really wants today is a fight, but there are no vampire sightings. Well, excluding Aro. Peter keeps suggesting it, every time, seemingly never tired of the joke.

He eats most of the sheep, then lays down on the rocks, his muzzle resting on his paws. Sighs. The wolf brain may be a bit calmer, generally, than the human brain, but right now it’s not enough to keep him from thinking. Unfortunately.

Aro and Peter seem to be a little less at each other’s throats these days, which is nice. A little bit of it, no doubt, is Aro being busy, right now, with what he learned of what is happening in Europe. With the Volturi's various allies fighting over what’s left of Aro’s empire. Keeps him antagonising Peter too much. And whatever Aro saw in Peter’s mind, it has made the human be a little more careful about how he talks to the vampire. They still bicker, insult each other with every other breath when they talk, but it doesn’t seem to have real fire any more. Lucian no longer worries about returning home after a full moon and finding either dead. Well, Peter dead, if he’s honest, the human has no chance against Aro.

It is... it is so frustrating, has been so frustrating, watching the two men he loves fight and hate each other so, both so jealous, both so full of anger. It is all Lucian can do to not to snap at them to stop acting like fucking children about it, to force them, somehow, to understand that he loves them both, but. But he is trying to be better. To be kind, to undo some of what six centuries of war has forced him to become. Ruthless. Willing to sacrifice others for his goals. It is not what he wants to be.

He can admit, now, that he got a little carried away with his quest, especially in the latter half of the twentieth century. So much scientific progress, so many failed heirs to Corvinus. The human experiments, especially, he regrets. He hopes he will never have to tell Peter in detail what he did. He knows that he should.

Lucian pushes himself to his paws again. Too much thinking. Not what he is here for. No. Time for another hunt. Until his belly is so full of prey he can no longer run, until some of this frustration dissipates.

-

He walks into the penthouse the next morning, and is surprised to find Peter gone. It’s only a little after ten, and the human normally wouldn’t be awake yet. True, he often stays up to wait for Lucian on these days, but that doesn’t count, he has said, as being up early, as they will usually go right to sleep together.

Lucian finds Aro in the living room, reading an old book and shimmering faintly in the indirect sunlight. He isn’t moving, barely breathing, and looks, as always, as he has been carved from marble, like the statues in his homeland. They have dispensed with the blackout curtains, now, and Aro seems to enjoy being able to be in the sunlight a little, up here where it’s safe.

“Are you going to come talk to me, or merely admire my beauty in silence?” Aro asks, not looking up from his book.

“I thought I might just watch you,” he says, yet immediately settling down in the chair next to him.

“Yes, I’ve been told I’m stunning,” Aro says with a completely straight face.

And Lucian can’t argue, because he himself has told him this on several occasions.

“Do you know where Peter is?”

Aro raises his eyebrows and sighs.

“He has a meeting, and when I asked what it was about he threw a beer can at me.”

“Ah, well, he is not a morning person.”

“You do have curious tastes in humans, my darling,” Aro says with a sigh.

“As opposed to my tastes in vampires?”

“Of course. That is impeccable, obviously.”

Lucian laughs.

“And you can’t see a single similarity between the two of you?”

Aro puts down his book, at last, and frowns at Lucian, as if he genuinely can’t.

“And what would they be?” he demands, as if the very concept is ridiculous.

“Oh I don’t know. You’re both attractive men, and dramatic, and both- oh, what does Peter call it? You are both, aesthetically, like a Germanic tribe?”

“Goths,” Aro supplies.

“Those are the ones, yes. I could only think of the Gauls, but those were different.”

“Quite. Not Germanic, for one.”

“It was, in my defence, before my time. Anyway. You both are utterly convinced that you are right about everything, both vain, both a bit self centred.”

“And these are the reasons you like us, is it? It doesn’t sound terribly flattering.”

“Perhaps not. But you are also both passionate, and charming, and intelligent-"

Aro makes a noise of disbelief.

“He is, but he has had a few millennia less to amass knowledge. And doesn’t have your perfect memory.”

“He has made a lot of very stupid decisions in his short life,” Aro points out.

“Yes. And you and I have both made a number of them in our very long life. But yes, he is human, he is fallible, perhaps more so than you. But one must love people for their flaws as well as their good qualities. For what they are capable of.”

Aro makes a noise that indicates that he doesn’t quite agree, and he is a little bit ridiculous himself. Lucian can’t quite help his smile. He wants, quite badly, to kiss him, but refrains. Settles for putting his hand over Aro’s for a moment, feeling that reassuring cool flesh.  
Warm golden eyes turn to look at him. He is getting used to them now, despite the fact they’ve gone back to red twice in these few months.

“I will admit to perhaps not being entirely perfect for all my long life,” Aro says, “as long as the human cannot hear me say it.”

Lucian can’t help but smile.

“And you two are definitely equally stubborn and ridiculous.”

Aro huffs.

-

Peter comes in an hour later, while they are still there, still talking. Lucian is a little tired, but it is so very nice to see Aro in the light of day for once. He sparkles beautifully, shining and radiant even when the light doesn’t quite hit him.

“You know,” Peter announces, dropping what appears, luckily, to be an empty to-go cup onto the floor in lieu of a heavy bag or something to more noisily underline his point, “I am so very close to changing the rules and letting you eat my producer, Aro.”

“Bad meeting?” Lucian asks.

Peter makes an unhappy noise, and comes over, settling on the armrest of Lucian’s chair, resting his arm on Lucian’s shoulder.

“Excruciating. Torture. She is breaking the Geneva convention.”

“How?” Lucian demands, smiling into the kiss Peter bends down to give him.

He tastes like coffee, predictably, but also beer. Which is slightly worrying at this time of morning. Peter makes a noise that probably means it is somewhat less bad than he makes it out to be.

“Apparently I’m not putting everything into the show. And I’m no longer allowed to veto casting choices based on whether or not they are attractive to me personally. And apparently I can’t report stakes or crossbow bolts as expenses.”

“That does sound like a war crime,” Aro quips.

Peter makes a face at him, too frustrated to come up with a proper come back. He slides down into the chair until he is sitting curled up in Lucian’s lap, one leg hanging over the arm rest, kicking half heartedly at Aro’s chair.

“Good time wolfing out?” Peter asks, voice muffled by the fact that he is speaking directly into Lucian’s chest.

“I had,” says Lucian, keeping his tone light and neutral, but he sees Aro’s eyes flick in his direction.

His hearing is too good not to notice the subtlest sounds of an untruth.

“Good,” murmurs Peter.

“’M gonna go back to bed for a bit, yeah? Got another meeting in two hours and I need an angry nap. Join me? Or did you spent all your wolfy time sleeping?”

“I will join you, my love, in a moment.”

Peter groans, but pushes himself up enough to kiss Lucian once more, and then to his feet, heading out and in the direction of the bedroom. A minute later they hear the soft noise of his collapsing directly onto the mattress.

“You don’t think he was being serious, do you? About wanting me to drain his producer?” Aro asks wistfully.

“Probably not,” Lucian replies, giving the vampire a sympathetic look.  
“A pity. Perhaps I can convince him otherwise.”

“I am so very deeply grateful, Aro, that your gift is not convincing others to do what you want them to.”

The vampire smiles, fangs glinting in the sunlight.

“Oh, I can be quite persuasive, even without more occult powers.”

“I know, I know," Lucian assures him.

Which is true. The vampire has talked him into many a thing he might not have chosen to do otherwise. Mostly things involving human culture. His first time in an automobile had been Aro's doing. As had his first experience with moving pictures, although even Aro admitted that _The Wolfman_ was an unfortunate choice. Lucian had made him see _Nosferatu_ in retaliation.

"Was there anything wrong?" Aro asks a moment later, voice quiet, almost gentle.

"What do you mean?"

"Earlier. Tonight? When Peter asked how you were?"

"Ah. That."

Lucian runs a hand through his hair, further messing it up.

"I... I was just a little... frustrated. I try- I am trying to be a better. A better person. For Peter. To not let myself get angry, to not show him how angry I sometimes do get. And it is just... I don't blame either of you two for not getting along, but it is... quite vexing, at times."

Aro has the decency to look chastened. 

"I do understand, my sweet wolf. And I... am trying. And I think that Peter is too. As much as he hates me for doing what I did, it does help. Makes it easier to understand him. But I understand your worry. Your wanting to protect him a little, from the realities of our world. What is left."

Lucian rises, and leans in to press a kiss to Aro's cheek.

"Thank you, my dear. For understanding."

"Always, sweet wolf. I do have some experience with being a monster."

Lucian is about to argue, but Aro shushes him.

"A discussion for another time. Go get some sleep with your human, so he does not suspect me of seducing you away."

"Bit late for that," Lucian murmurs, but obeys, heading for the undeniably sweet prospect of falling asleep in Peter's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep messing up which name I'm using, for some reason. Part of my brain paying attention to work, instead of the important things in life, like typing up this. But hopefully it should be clear from context and content who is saying what.


	30. 2014:  Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucian has been contacted by a lycan from his past, and Aro and Peter try, reluctantly, to bond.

Lucian has gone. He hasn’t disappeared, hasn’t stopped existing, but he has left on some quest to reunite with a lycan he had thought killed in the whole disastrous mess back in 2003. And Peter is pleased for him, of course he is, it may help to ease the guilt he carries around, has carried around for more than a decade now, but Peter is very much not looking forward to his being gone for three days. To being alone with Aro for so long. 

**Peter:** babe I miss u

 **Lucian:** I have barely gotten out of the lift. You kissed me goodbye two minutes ago.

 **Lucian:** I miss you too, my love.

 **Peter:** (wolf emoji, heart emoji, pale dark haired human male emoji)

He sighs and shoves his phone back into his pocket. It is early afternoon, and he still has a couple of hours until he can justify going down to start getting ready for his show, and though he still has a bunch of concepts from the show’s PR people he needs to go over, that email will remain unopened for another day, resting atop a long list of other such. If he hasn’t opened them, he reasons, he cannot know that they are asking him to do things.

Peter wanders to his kitchen, making himself a triple latte, and brings it over to the bar to spike it just a little bit. It’s five o’clock on the east coast. Probably. He’s never gotten the hang of one single country needing to have this many time zones. It seems excessive, but then, excess is the nature of America.

In the end he settles with his coffee on the sofa, firing up his Playstation. Some good shooting sounds like just the thing to express his feelings about being left alone with an infuriating vampire for half a week. And it’s good, it works. He slides on his overpriced headphones, tilted off centre, so they only cover one ear, so Aro won’t be able to sneak up on him. Not that he’s worried about the vampire killing him, not any more, but he still finds it fucking creepy how silently Aro moves sometimes, and he knows he delights in seemingly suddenly appearing directly behind Peter and startling him, and then acting like it’s Peter’s fault for being limited by human hearing.

Ducking behind a poorly rendered crate, Peter swears, repeatedly pressing the button to reload his gun while his team mate says something in what he thinks might be Chinese. Whatever it means it sounds angry, and also like the speaker is a twelve year old boy, which tracks. Peter presses the button to talk, and tells the boy in no uncertain terms to get off his ass, and also would he by any chance happen to have some extra ammo. This causes another stream of intense and incomprehensible Chinese. But this is precisely why he doesn’t choose the American servers. The insults are there, sure, but if he can’t understand them they can’t bother him. It’s fool proof.

Another team appears, taking on the attackers, and Peter and 133794m3r_02 can scramble to the safety of a nearby building, vaulting through a window that’s already been broken by someone else. Peter ducks into a small nearly empty room, where he can use a med kit and pick up a couple of clips of ammo for a different gun than the one he’s using. Typical. He tries asking 1337g4m3r_02 whether they need it, but they haven’t seemed to learn any more English in the last few minutes, so he drops the ammo on the floor and repeatedly crouches and stands up again next to it in a form of extremely basic sign language. 

“What are you doing?” asks a voice that is far, far too close to his right ear.

Peter yelps, and accidentally sends several rounds into the wall next to him, alerting anyone nearby to their presence.

“Christ,” he says, tugging his headphones down and looking at Aro, who has somehow sat down on the other end of the sofa without Peter’s noticing him.

“Gonna put a fucking bell on you.”

“I knocked,” Aro says, “but you seemed not to hear.”

Peter makes a face at him, and then notices that his health bar is rapidly depleting and swears, ducking down below the window sill and equipping a grenade, tossing it blindly in the direction of the offending bullets. He scrambles backward, trying to get a good angle.

“’M trying to shoot these absolute dickheads,” Peter announces, ignoring the angry shouting he can dimly hear through his headphones.

“Oh? What have they done to you?” Aro asks, peering at the screen.

“Uh,” replies Peter, and fumbles his way into the menu to switch to his sniper rifle, because wherever these fucks are he can’t see them.

It’s very nearly out of ammo, but he crouches, looking through the scope and spots two shadowy figures perched atop a building. Fires off three shots, but only one hits, and then he has to duck away because those fuckers are clearly not here to play.

“Shot me first,” he settles on, swearing as his health bar blinks aggressively and red splotches appear round the edges of the screen.

“Hmm. I was under the impression that you weren’t overly keen on violence against other humans,” Aro says, because apparently he is made exclusively of judgement today.

Judgement and venom. What a combo.

“Well, not in real life, no. On screen’s different. There it’s more- oh fuck you, you piece of shit I’m gonna- aw, fuck.”

“Who are you yelling at?” asks Aro as if he can’t hear the angry muttering of 1337g4m3r_02 as they both die and are sent back to the lobby.

“Strangers on the internet. But if you’d like some insults directed towards you instead I’m sure we could make that happen.”

Aro sighs, heavy and theatrical.

“Is this what you’re going to be like the whole time?”

Peter shrugs.

“Probably.”

“Perhaps I need to find a hotel and stay at, then.”

“Fuck off, I’m a delight, I’ve been reliably told.”

He starts a new game, but leaves his headphones where they are, which is going to increase the difficulty significantly. 

“Who is v4n_h3151ng?” asks Aro, pronouncing each letter and number separately.

“Van Helsing. Can you not read? Anyway, it’s my username.”

“A bit lofty,” Aro suggests.

Peter shrugs.

“Buffy was taken.”

Aro frowns at him, and Peter rolls his eyes.

“Famous fictional vampire slayer.”

“Ah. And Dangernoodle666?”

“That’s whoever I’m playing with.”

He lifts the headphones to his ear for a moment.

“Hmm. Sounds like Russian this time.”

Aro looks at him for a moment.

“They are suggesting rather rude things about your capabilities with regards to this game,” Aro says.

“You speak Russian?”

“I speak most languages,” Aro tells him, “I’ve had some time to learn, after all.”

“Huh.”

“Look,” says Aro as he watches Peter and this unimpressed Russian guy sneak through what seems like some sort of poorly stocked and largely abandoned hospital, “I was wondering if I might perhaps be able to watch your show later tonight?”

Peter looks at him, and walks directly into a wall for a few moments.

“Why?” he asks finally, suspicious.

“I would like to see it. Lucian tells me you put a lot of work into it, which to me seems unlikely because you seem to be here at almost all times, but I do believe my sweet wolf, so he must know.”

“Uh,” Peter replies intelligently as he makes his way up to the roof, where a stash of grenades are hidden behind a chimney.

“I mean, I can get you a ticket, sure. Usually not sold out on Wednesdays. But on the condition that you don’t get to make fun of me. Or it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing,” Aro tells him, mock affronted, betrayed by a hint of a smile.

Peter’s character is kicked off the roof by his team mate, and he swears, grateful this game doesn’t have fall damage.

“Wanker,” he mutters.

-

Peter deliberately gets Aro a shitty seat, quite far back, but he can’t imagine it matters much, given the vampire’s supernatural senses. Not like he’s gonna miss many details. It makes Peter quite uneasy, having him there, judging. It’s not entirely unlike what he felt the first time Lucian watched it, which, no thank you, that’s a bad connection for his brain to make. It’s just because he’s nervous. Not that he cares about Aro’s opinion. In fact, fuck Aro, it doesn’t matter in the fucking slightest what he thinks. Peter takes a quick shot of the emergency vodka stashed in his dressing room, just in case. 

It goes fine. He misses one cue, but that, honestly, is no worse than usual. The pyrotechnics work properly, for fucking once, which is good, and the actresses are all, he has to admit, really excellent. And it’s hard to take one’s acting performance serious in this kind of a show. He sends off another text to Lucian after, but gets no immediate reply. Probably he’s on the road still. Or meeting his lycan person. He was going quite far, somewhere up vaguely north.

Aro is back, of course, before Peter, and he looks quite amused, which, ugh. Okay. Whatever.

“I’m not accepting any notes on my performance ‘til I’ve had a shower and a drink or three,” announces Peter, and disappears into the bathroom to drown himself temporarily.

When he’s dressed and his hair is at least half way to dry again, but still hanging unflattering down into his eyes despite his best efforts, Lucian still hasn’t replied. Peter sends a series of emojis by which he means to communicate his love and his curiosity as to the result of Lucian’s quest. No immediate reply still. Probably busy. Probably fine.

“It’s certainly got some interesting choices,” Aro begins when Peter has come back out and mixed himself a gin tonic, for variety.

Peter groans, and downs half his drink.

“Yeah?” he asks, already filled with regret.

“The vampires are wildly inaccurate, for one.”

“There’s loads of different kinds, though. I mean, I know of at least four different ones. And you’ve all got different rules and weaknesses and powers and shit.”

“True,” admits Aro, “but none quite like this. And the fire in your hands, what’s that about?”

“Looks fucking cool is what it’s about,” Peter tells him, only a little bit defensively.

He checks his phone again, but still no reply.

“Well,” says Aro in a tone efficiently communicating his significant doubt.

“Look, it’s not a show about accuracy. It’s not even a show about things that are scary, or sexy. It’s just the idea of it. It’s the aesthetics and atmosphere of vampire stories. It’s getting to look cool on a stage for two hours most night and being able to make a living off it.”

“And not at all a way of not dealing with your childhood trauma? Your therapist seems to believe so.”

“God. I fucking hate this. Feeling of you in my head as if you’re still in there, still snooping around my memories. Also no. It’s not that, it’s not a weird coping mechanism or whatever she says.”

Aro makes a face that indicates that he, perhaps, disagrees. But he doesn’t say anything more about it, which is uncharacteristically considerate of him.

“I- I am sorry. It is hard not to rely on it.”

Peter swallows down the last of his drink, and goes to mix himself another, heavier on the gin this time. He clicks on his phone, but other than the picture of Lucian, hair messy, asleep in his bed, and about 39 twitter notifications, there is nothing. Something in his stomach feels off, and he’s pretty sure it’s not the gin.

“I do understand that,” he says through gritted teeth, “but it’s still an unimaginable invasion of privacy and a fucking dick move.”

He is somewhat less worried now, because in the weeks since Aro read his mind, he hasn’t once made any threats, or given any indication that he might be inclined to mock Peter viciously, or tell Lucian anything. But then, if he’s used to doing this to people, he has probably seen worse things than all the myriad of incredibly embarrassing things Peter has done while drunk or high, or the dumb shit he thought and said and did when he was young, or all the horrifically bad sex. He hasn’t even brought up the time when Peter, sometime between Lucian revealed his true nature and Peter forgiving him had looked up werewolf-centric porn. Which it turns out isn’t really his thing, thankfully, except when the werewolf in question is Lucian, and the absolutely maximum wolfy he gets during sex is the eyes and fangs and growling. Which is, he isn’t gonna lie, extremely fucking hot.

“I know,” admits Aro.

“But I can’t,” Peter continues as if he hadn’t heard him, “promise that I wouldn’t do that if I had the ability to.”

Aro looks up at him, eyebrows raised.

“Really?”

“Temptation would be there,” Peter says with a shrug, “and I can resist everything except temptation.”

Aro does smile, then.

“Perhaps Lucian is right after all,” the vampire says.

“About what?”

“Well, he keeps trying to tell me how similar you and I are.”

“He what?” demands Peter, grimacing.

“Yes, well, that was my initial reaction too.”

“Love him, but the wolf’s an idiot,” Peter announces.

“Well, exactly. But perhaps the fact we agree is a sign he isn’t.”

The vampire’s logic is, unfortunately, flawless. Peter makes a face, and downs his drink.

“Hey, by the way, has Lucian texted you? He hasn’t been replying to me.”

Aro finds his phone (it’s the same iPhone Peter has, same colour and everything. Shameful.), and opens it. Code, Peter notes, rather than fingerprint. Perhaps his skin is so smooth and stonelike that the sensor can’t read them. Or perhaps it’s a heat sensor thing. He doesn’t know enough about how phones work.

“No, he hasn’t but-”

Aro is interrupted by his phone ringing, the tone shrill and piercing.

“Hello?”

There is muffled speech from the other side, and Aro replies in Italian, and Peter loses interest. Gets out his own phone and scrolls through twitter, liking images of cats doing stupid things, and tweeting his obligatory self promotion things. Uploads an in costume selfie he had taken earlier with a couple of the vampires in his show, tagging them and announcing them to be bloody excellent co-workers, followed by sunglasses emojis and vampire emojis.

“Peter.”

He puts down his phone and looks up at Aro, whose face has gone, if possible, even paler than usual. He is clutching the phone so hard the case around it has started to crack.

“What?” asks Peter, though he has an uncomfortable sinking feeling in his stomach, worse now.

The light from the city below seems suddenly ominous rather than comforting.

“It is some of my former allies. They’ve taken Lucian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to have Peter play an actual game, but none of the shooty online games I play were out in 2014 oops. So he's playing an imaginary game which bears a striking resemblance, in look, to pubg, but in 2014 style.


	31. 2014: Truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Man unsure if being bullied or male bonding

“What.”

  
It’s not even a question, just a flat statement of bafflement, because all Peter’s neurons can do at this moment is blare the alarms as loudly as possible.

  
“It was a trap,” Aro explains, and Peter could swear his eyes have gone a touch more red, his fangs showing more.

  
“Yeah,” Peter says, and blinks, takes a deep breath, “okay. Give me a few minutes to gather my weapons, then I’m ready to go.”

  
“You’re not coming,” Aro tells him.

  
“I’m fucking sorry?”

  
“Lucian would never forgive me if I let you get hurt.”

  
“You’ve been in my head, Aro, what about me makes you think I’m gonna stay here?”

  
Aro looks at him, considering.

  
“All right. You may come, but you stay back. These are my kind of vampires. Your tricks won’t work on them.”

  
“And what? You’re just completely invulnerable? No weaknesses at all?”

  
Aro follows him out into the hall of weaponry as they speak. He surveys the anti vampire measures with faint disdain.

  
“No.”

  
“Aro, come on.”

  
Peter turns to him, looking down into warm golden eyes. Like a panther, he decides. Like a massive predator, terrifying and beautiful in equal measure. 

  
“It’s not like I’m gonna try to kill you at this point, is it? Lucian would never forgive me for that. So we’re both safe from each other, yeah? Cause of Lucian.”

  
“I suppose that’s fair, yes. Fine. We don’t like fire. If our exposure to it is long enough, if it’s hot enough, it will consume us. The same is true of lava, I believe, and nuclear explosions, though those are, I hope, somewhat beyond you.”

  
“Just a little bit, yeah. But all right. Fire. Can whip up some Molotov cocktails. I don’t have a flamethrower, tragically, apparently I’m not allowed one, but I can do some improvised shit. Keep it away from you, promise.”

  
“Oh that sounds like something that simply cannot go wrong,” Aro snipes, and if they’re back to mocking then he can’t be that worried.

  
“Hey, I use pyrotechnics in my show. I’m a professional at this shit.”

  
“Having now witnessed said show I am not entirely sure I agree. But gather what you need and we will leave.”

  
-

  
Peter lets Aro drive, which seems to be good, because he’s fallen asleep within half an hour. It’s probably good for him, Aro thinks, and he envies him being able to. Wishes he also had the ability to stop thinking about what they might be doing to Lucian, even for a moment. He imagines dungeons, silver chains. Or worse, silver knives. But the chains, he thinks, will be the worst. He agonises, imagining Lucian suffering through the torment of his youth, the treatment he received at the hands of vampires like him. Almost like him, anyway. He wonders whether they have unearthed those horrid collars, filled with silver spikes to pierce his throat should he attempt to change, to break free. He hopes not. After all, how would they?

It’s a long drive, up to the northernmost part of California. Over twelve hours. They could cross half of Europe in the same sort of time. The Americas are a ridiculous continent.   
It is only a little after midnight when they leave, which means they will have to drive in the sun for half a day as well. After about three hours or so, Peter wakes up, and demands they stop. He disappears into the petrol station for ten minutes, and returns with an armful of very unappealing looking foods, a can of fuel and possibly the largest cup of coffee Aro has seen. 

  
“For lighting your buddies on fire,” he explains, gesturing at the fuel.

  
“They have not been my allies for some time,” Aro points out.

  
“Shit, you know what I mean. Whatever fuckers have got Lucian.”

  
The drive in relative silence for a while, Peter drinking his coffee, staring out at the dark night in front of them. Aro listens to him, the fluctuations in his pulse heralding changes in mood.

  
“What do they want?” he asks, eventually.

  
“My death, I expect. Or my handing over, officially, of the reigns to the Volturi. My blessing to destroy my life’s work, perhaps. They must, somehow, have learned of my presence here, and also have known of my relationship with Lucian. It was never something I told the rest of the Volturi about, but I never tried all that hard to hide it.”

  
He looks at Peter, but the human is staring out the window into the darkness. Perhaps he is concentrating on refraining from saying they ought just to let them kill Aro. Impressive restraint if that should be the case.

  
“They didn’t say?”

  
“No,” Aro replies, “simply told me where to go. But it matches the town Lucian said he was headed to. I assume there will be further traps.”

  
Peter nods. Stares blankly at him for a moment.

  
“Considering giving them what they want?”

  
“Not if it is my death. I can’t imagine they would release Lucian after killing me.”

  
“And if what they want is your power?”  
Aro hesitates, and Peter watches him with piercing, if still sleepy eyes.

  
“I don’t know,” he admits.

  
“Not even for Lucian?”

  
It is more of an accusation than a question.  
“We might be able to fight them. It might not be necessary.”

  
“But if it comes to it? If you have to pick between him and your political power?”

  
Aro looks out the window with renewed focus.

  
-

  
“What do you think they’re doing to him?”

  
Peter regrets asking almost immediately, because Aro likely knows a lot more about torture than he does. Probably has done a lot more of it. He shudders, and the thought crosses his mind that he is locked in a tiny metal box with a three thousand year old predator who feeds on humans. Who would like nothing more than to drain all his blood, to consume him, even though they sort of tolerate each other these days.

  
“Hopefully nothing,” Aro replies, “perhaps they are simply keeping him locked up. Chained, probably. He is, after all, incredibly strong.”

  
“That’s not good.”

  
“It is not.”

  
Aro’s voice is calm, but Peter knows he must be slightly panicking, just more skilled at hiding than he is himself.

  
“He told me how much he hates any idea of restraints, and I get it. Was foolish enough to bring up using handcuffs in bed once. He had told me, of course, about his past, about being a slave, but somehow it just didn’t occur to me that maybe the idea would bring back bad memories.”

  
Aro glances at him.

  
“Yes. I too have made... similar errors. It is easy, I think, when it is not something you have been through. And we are both lucky like that.”

  
“Yeah? Slaves were a thing, though, back when you were human, right?”

  
“They were.”

  
“But you weren’t one?”

  
“No. But neither was my family wealthy enough to afford any.”

  
“That’s good. S'pose you would’ve been even worse if you were a monster even before you were bitten.”

  
Aro, to his credit, doesn’t argue the point. They’re both tense, both worried. Peter would not have blamed him for lashing out. Or, rather, he would, but he would also understand it.

  
“You knew him, right, back when he was still... you know, with the vampires?”

  
“Not really. I met him once, when he was only forty something, I think. Barely grown. The rage at his shackles only an ember. But I have read his memories, as you know, so in that sense I know him as well then as now.”

  
“What was he like?”

  
“Careful. Scared of crossing lines. Deeply in love with Sonja already, and though she liked him back it took them almost a century to even kiss. But then, I doubt it was unusual for the slaves and servants to love the royalty from afar. He was fortunate to be loved back. Terrified of me.”

  
“Sensible of him.”

  
“Probably,” Aro admits.

  
Peter roots through his pile of road snacks for a moment, emerging triumphantly with something that’s slightly closer to a candy bar than a protein bar. Rummages further until he finds a caffeinated soda. A soft hiss as it opens.

  
“It was bad, wasn’t it?”

  
“His life there?”

  
Peter nods, sipping what is frighteningly close in flavour and nutritional value to liquid sugar.

  
“Yes. The collar did look rather fetching on him, but it was a constant heavy reminder of his status. Of being property. Though he was a favoured lycan, treated comparatively well, given a proper skill to learn, he was still just a lowly servant. Still simply a convenient beast.”

  
Peter’s heart aches for Lucian, as it does whenever he learns more of his past. He hopes it is the same for Aro. Hopes so for Lucian’s sake, that his ancient lover actually genuinely cares for him, that it’s not just desire.

  
“Fuck,” Peter says, “I wish that Victor guy was still alive so I could kill him.”

  
Aro looks amused.

  
“He was terrible,” the vampire agrees, “but you will have your chance to fight our wolf’s captors now. Perhaps they will have some servants who will not immediately annihilate you.”

  
“Please,” Peter disagrees, “as if you’re gonna let them kill Lucian’s favourite human.”

  
And he truly believes that now. That Aro cares so much for Lucian’s opinion that he will go out of his way to save Peter. It’s an odd feeling to have, but reassuring nonetheless. 

  
“He would be dreadfully disappointed, so I suppose I shall have to keep you alive,” Aro says with a theatrical sigh.

  
“I’m scared for him,” Peter says after a while.

  
Aro looks at him for a moment, then back out at the barely illuminated road in front of them.

  
“So am I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The twilight wiki is super vague on Aro's background so I'm just making up something that sounds sensible.


	32. 2014: Sanguinem Nostrum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vampire fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! because I'm going by what the twilight wiki tells me about twilight vampire physiology there are some really gross violent things happening. It will be pretty clear when it starts, so just. Heads up for that.

Peter suppresses a moan as several sets of fangs graze his throat, quickly replaced by soft kisses. It’s all contrasts, hot and cold. Four hands roaming over his body, touching him everywhere, the sensations so much they almost overwhelm. 

Lucian moves up to kiss him, deeply, pale and inhuman blue eyes looking into Peter’s, just as he feels two cool fingers slip into the wet heat of him, a warmer finger stroking his clit, a cool tongue licking across a nipple, tugging lightly at it with teeth so sharp. Peter’s hands are tangled in twin heads of long dark hair, his legs too trying to wrap around his lovers, to tug them closer.

There are no words, just feeling, just their breathing, the wet sounds of bodies moving around each other, the faint sound of nails so sharp they are half way to claws scraping so very lightly across soft skin. The finger on his clit is replaced with a warm mouth, a tongue licking around him just right. But something is missing, something more that he can’t quite put his finger on, because his fingers are busy wrapping around a cool cock.

Lucian growls as he sinks into Peter, filling and stretching him just right, just enough intensity that he needs a moment to adjust before the lycan starts to move. Aro has captured Lucian in a kiss, and for a moment the two are wrapped up in each other. Then they are all kissing, somehow, messy and uncoordinated and utterly utterly perfect, and there are so many hands, so many kisses, so much skin. Peter is just about to come when two sets of fangs sink into his neck and he gasps.

His eyes shoot open and he looks around wildly, eyes landing on an unsettlingly amused looking Aro, glittering faintly where some stray rays on sunlight hit his skin.

“Fuck,” Peter exclaims, with passion.

His hand comes up to his neck, just making sure the skin there is whole and unmarred, and he sees Aro’s eyes move as they catch the gesture. _Fuck_. He is so violently embarrassed he thinks he might expire from that alone, and frustratingly turned on. Peter has the uncomfortable conviction that Aro can sense it.

“Sleep well?” he asks, innocent as anything.

“Nhurghh,” Peter replies, “uh. Sure.”

“Sweet dreams?” 

Peter takes the balled up jacket he had been using as a pillow and buries his face in it with a groan. He can’t hear anything, but he is convinced Aro is smiling that stupid little smug smile of his. God. He’s really gotta ask his therapist again about drugs that can make him not dream, because this isn’t okay, this isn’t sustainable. 

“We’re almost there,” Aro adds, and Peter emerges from the jacket to look out the window. 

They’re driving over a stretch of hills, and in the distance Peter can see the sea. Wherever they are it’s not somewhere he’s familiar with. He checks his phone to work out where they are, but evidently they are too far from anything for his phone to manage loading anything as complex as google maps. Terrible.

“Heard anything from the bastards?” Peter demands, trying to force the shame and embarrassment to the back of his throat as his therapist has taught him.

Which, shit, did he have an appointment today? Did he take his meds today? Definitely not. Did he bring them? Also no. Wonderful. It doesn’t entirely work, the calming technique, but he does manage to not think about it because suddenly the reality of their situation comes crashing down upon him like a very large pile of anxious bricks.

“They gave me a time,” Aro says.

“Two hours from now. We’ll be there in thirty minutes or so. I don’t know what you want to do in the meantime?”

“Have a very intense panic attack, ideally,” Peter mutters. 

Aro tries and fails to hide a laugh. Peter is seized with the intense fear that the vampire has done his weird touch telepathy while he slept, when he wasn’t awake to feel the memories and thoughts being pulled out of him. It would be so easy for him, just to pull off his glove and reach across. Maybe while he was having that last dream. God. It’s good they’re headed for the shore because after they have saved Lucian Peter is going to have to throw himself into the ocean.

“I thought we might try to see what the place is like,” Aro suggests.

“I am, of course, going to rip all their heads of and burn their bodies for what they have done to Lucian, but it never hurts to be prepared.”

“You’re going to kill them? No matter what?”

Peter looks at Aro, at the quiet restraint like a paper thin layer barely covering burning rage. Aro turns his face towards him, and Peter could swear he sees little flecks of blood red in the golden depths of his eyes. 

“Yes.”

Peter takes a deep breath. 

“Then, for once, we’re agreed.”

-

Lucian tries, once more, to fight against his restraints, but it is still no use. They are silver, with spikes on the inside, making it impossible to fight against them without impaling himself, without sinking the sharp, burning metal into his flesh. There are shackles on his wrists, around his ankles and a collar, not entirely unlike the one he wore for the first few centuries of his life. The silver spikes dig into ancient scars.

His cell feels a proper dungeon, even though it’s far more modern. A concrete room, with a heavy door, illuminated by a single, bare bulb which has started to flicker. The floor is hard beneath his knees, and the shackles force him into an uncomfortable sitting position he has held for what feels like years. In reality it is likely no more than a day, but with no sensory input time loses its meaning. 

He doesn’t know where he is, nor who his captors are. His guard had been down, there had been a whole hour left of his drive, and so he was not prepared for the attack when it came. His motorbike had hit something laid out across the road, hard to see in the dark, and he had been thrown from it as it skidded off the road and into a tree. Then there had been an incredibly loud noise, a shock of force against his head. It had healed by the time he woke up again, so he doesn’t know, but he thinks maybe someone shot him in the head. Not with silver, though. They evidently know enough of lycans to know their limits, and know who he is to keep him alive.

Lucian should have known that the idea of someone from his pack surviving was too good to be true, but in the chaos of that last fight anything seemed like it could have happened. And things, lately, have been good. Well, better. With Peter and Aro, it feels like a small pack, even if neither of them are lycans. They are his beloveds, and the wolf in him howls that they must keep the pack together, protected. Howls that they might be in danger without him. It’s nonsense, really, of course Aro is powerful enough to protect the both of them, and cares enough for Lucian that he will protect Peter too. Lucian has that faith in him.

The moon is halved and too far away to lend him any extra power he might use to break free from his captors. They have not come in here once since he awoke, and he doesn’t know how long they plan on leaving him here. He won’t die in here, of course, not in the way a human might, but eventually he will lose his strength, already sapped by the constant exposure to silver. 

It is day or months or years later when he sees the door shift, hears, finally, some hint that there is life out there, outside his cell, of some sort. Muffled voices, banging of something against the metal, and then, finally, what sounds like a minor explosion. The door is gradually forced open.

-

They had tried sneaking in, but apparently whoever was there know Aro too well to let him get away with that, and they were very quickly confronted by a group of pale and exquisitely beautiful men and women. In the dark depths of the building their skin doesn’t sparkle, but their eyes are bright red. They lead the two of them into another room after remarking on Aro’s change in lifestyle with mockery in their lightly accented voices. The eyes, must be. 

They raise eyebrows at Peter’s presence, but he is not immediately slaughtered, so he must be accepted, somehow. He is not included, though, because they quickly switch to Italian, speaking too rapidly for Peter too even pick out what few words he might otherwise have recognised. He makes the decision that second on his list, after throwing himself into the ocean, will be to learn some more languages, because life, apparently, isn’t a movie where everyone speaks accented English rather than their native or adopted native tongues.

They are in some sort of conference room, decorated as if someone is trying very hard for a sort of gothic inspired Baroque style of furniture, but are limited to what is available on the American marked. The result is aesthetically confused, and more like the styling in Peter’s flat than he is entirely comfortable with. They haven’t taken his weapons, though. Perhaps Aro is right, and there is nothing he could do to prevent these beings from crushing him like an ant. 

Peter perks up at the mention, he thinks, of Lucian’s name. It is hard to decipher, but he watches the person who seems to be the leader of the vampires, a pale woman with dark curling hair and skin like ice. They all, like Aro, dress in modern variants of what they have presumably worn throughout history, all black and crimson and silver, barely normal human clothes, and seeming exorbitantly expensive. Peter debates whether he can steal some after they’ve massacred these people, but then, chances are, everything will be so soaked in blood that it will be unusable.

“Come,” Aro says, quietly, as they are lead from this room, into another, bigger one, where a handful further vampires wait.

“Is it going well?” Peter whispers, although of course the vampires with their magic senses can hear everything.

Still, whispering feels right, feels like the thing to do. He sticks close to Aro, who has somehow become the one who makes him feel safe in this horrible weird and fucked up situation. 

“Not particularly,” Aro replies, his voice also a whisper.

He gives Peter a look that is very clearly a message, but which Peter does not understand at all. He widens his eyes, lifts his eyebrows, trying to communicate his lack of comprehension, but Aro just gives him the same look for a moment longer. Peter swears under his breath. Wishes he was the one who could read a mind at the touch of a hand. The best guess he can make is that Aro wants him to be ready for what’s happening, ready to fight.

-

Everything goes to shit half an hour later. Or it goes exactly according to Aro’s nebulous and secret plan, it’s hard to know. As they persist in speaking only Italian, Peter has no more warning than a brief look from gold eyes before Aro is moving, whirlwind fast, pouncing on what Peter thinks is the leader of them. He has hung back, as the vampire’s are in the centre of the room, and now he ducks down, hoping to stay out of sight. Fumbling in his bag for what he needs. He has his sword, soaked in holy water, but that isn’t going to do anything against these monsters. No. Fire, that’s the thing. 

He has just tossed a bottle stuffed with alcohol and a burning rag at the vampires, as far from Aro as he can, when he feels hands grabbing at him. He whirls around, and these must be the vampires’ servants, because he’s pretty sure they are human. His instinct is to argue, to point out that their masters are clearly evil bloodsuckers, but he himself is here with Aro, and the noise is so loud. So instead he kicks at the closest one, throwing himself to the side and in the direction where his sword lies on the ground.

Scrambling, hands grabbing at the hilt, his fingers close around the soft leather, and he kicks out, hitting one of the humans in the guts, hearing their shout. It’s starting to smell of smoke, now, and they are deep underground. There’s a noise above him, and on pure instinct he swings the sword up, a sharp arc that embeds itself deep in the thigh of one of the humans. His scream is deafening, and blood spills over them both, and Peter has to tug for a few seconds before the sword comes loose, leaving the human collapsed in a screaming heap. 

Peter struggles to his feet, looks around wildly, sword held aloft. The other human has got out a gun, so Peter, who apparently has no survival instinct left, tackles him to the ground, and the weapon is sent spinning away across the smooth floor. He is quite bruised now, and so full of adrenaline that he barely feels the knife sinking into his upper arm. Fingers grab at him, but he kicks at a column to right himself, managing to get on top of the other man. He’s lucky that these are servants and not guards, because they’re clearly not built for fighting. He gets up far enough to get a knee on one’s wrist, pressing down hard enough that something cracks, and the man screams. 

He feels something behind him, and swings backward with the sword still in his hands, and the sharp metal slices deep into the other man’s stomach. Peter didn’t mean to cut that deep, he really didn’t, but the sword is sharp, and both of them watch in shock as blood and guts spill from the wound and he sinks to the floor, not even screaming, but making horrible noises still. The man under him is clutching his crushed wrist, so Peter takes the chance to stomp down, hard on his ankle, until that too makes a cracking noise. Nothing that won’t heal, but enough to keep the man from moving. 

The gun is a few metres away, and Peter rushes to it, sliding on the floor slick with blood. Finally he looks up at the scene in the centre of the room, where only Aro and one more vampire are left standing. Extremely alarmingly, Aro’s left arm appears to have been removed: there is nothing but a heavily bleeding stump below his shoulder. Around him is a pile of decapitated bodies, and though his fangs are gritted in pain, he seems to be ready for the fight.

Peter aims the gun at the vampire with his back to him, firing until it clicks, empty. It has no discernible effect on the vampire, other than to distract them, make they turn around to face him, allowing Aro to attack. His eyes widen as he watches him lock his remaining arm around their neck, and with a sickening sound severing the head. It rolls across the floor, stopping before Peter and looking up at him with dead accusatory eyes.

Aro sinks to his knees, letting out a sound like an animal caught in a trap, feral and pained and deeply inhuman. Peter drops his sword, running over to him, kicking away the head in the process, and only barely managing not to make the situation worse yet by vomiting. His ears are ringing from the shots still, and though the silence is deafening the pained grunts of the still living human can be heard, as well as the crackling of the fire which has caught on some of the furniture.

“Aro,” Peter exclaims, crouching down next to him, hands hovering, uncertain, helpless.

“Arm,” Aro groans.

“Yes, I see, I-”

“Get. My. Fucking. Arm,” Aro spits out, each word a barely articular groan of pain.

Peter doesn’t question it, simply gets up, searching the pile of torn apart vampires frantically, watching with panic and nausea how some of them seem to live, still, writhing parts on the floor. The stench of blood and smoke permeate everything, and it is getting hard to breathe. Still, he only pukes his guts up briefly before he is able to locate Aro’s arm. He picks it up, and promptly screams and drops it when it twitches and moves in his hands.

“Peter,” Aro growls, a clear threat.

He swallows down bile, and picks the arm back up, horrified at the fingers that close around the fabric of his sleeve. Crouches down next to Aro again.

“What do I do?”

“Put it back,” Aro bites out, “it will reattach, just- press it until the bone connects-”

He interrupts himself with a scream of pain as Peter forces himself to do as he is told, brushing the torn cloth out of the way and pressing the arm back in place. He holds it there for several minutes, through Aro’s continued groans of pain, watching the flesh and skin knit itself back together. 

“Are you-” Peter begins to ask, but he has just reattached his arm, so okay seems like a poor word choice.

Aro takes a few deep breaths, twisting and flexing his newly attached arm, before grabbing Peter’s in both of his, pulling him close, mouth attaching itself to the wound in Peter’s arm. Peter, for his part, reacts in the only way he can, shouting and swearing, and trying helplessly to tear himself free, but it’s like fighting a statue, like trying to move a building. He starts to feel dizzy, stumbling and blinking as the air gets tighter, harder to breathe, the room despite the roaring fire growing darker.


	33. 2014: Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They find their wolf

It isn’t until Peter grows silent, slumping against him, that Aro realises he has drunk too deeply. He lowers the human gently to the floor, removing the torn of sleeve from his arm, wrapping the charcoal fabric around the wound. Peter will be fine, he will probably be fine. He won’t turn, of course, that would require Aro to drain more of his blood, and also to inject him with the venom in his fangs.

“Peter?” he asks, feeling to his frustration shame well up in him.

It’s just a human, just prey. He shouldn’t care, but he does. It’s because Lucian loves him, he tells himself. Or because he couldn’t help but read Peter’s mind while he fed, could feel exactly how angry and sickened and upset Peter was as it was happening. Yes. Yes, it is probably that. 

“Yuh,” Peter responds, nearly a minute late. 

So he’s conscious, if a bit incoherent. His skin has gone pale, and his heart is beating very fast for someone who is hanging limply as a doll in Aro’s arms as he lifts him up. He deposits him by the exit, sitting, leaning against the wall, head hanging forward.

“Wait here for a moment, all right?” Aro tells him, but doesn’t wait for Peter’s response.

He goes over to the two humans Peter fought. One of them is close to death, a mess of guts spilling from their sliced up stomach. Impressive. The other is crawling away, slow, as if attempting to go unnoticed. Aro picks him up, sinking his fangs into his throat to drain him. The human doesn’t even have time to scream. The other one he simply twists the neck of. That is, if anything, a mercy.

The fire is in danger of dying out, so Aro picks up the can of fuel from Peter’s abandoned bag, emptying the contents over the pile of torn apart vampires, giving a trail over to the fire, and watches as they too catch. Good. 

He picks up Peter’s sword, sliding it into his belt. Peter is in no shape to be armed right now. Then he gathers the human, who is also in no shape to walk, into his arms, nudging the heavy door open with his foot.

“Wass goin on?” Peter asks, voice slurred, head resting against Aro’s shoulder.

“The vampires are dead, and we are going to find our sweet wolf,” he explains.

“Oh,” Peter murmurs, “good.”

Aro wonders whether he might be lucky enough that Peter has forgotten that he drained him. Probably he will remember again, but Aro isn’t going to bring it up unless asked. Also, now he has seen his mind again, he does have the leverage of knowing Peter has dreamt of having sex with him. Which is, well. Flattering? A little. Funny? Absolutely. When they manage to save Lucian and get out of here he is going to dedicate some time to go through the memories he has stolen.

-

Lucian wonders if torture is what is in store, and braces himself as the door is pushed open. A triangle of light expands on the floor, and there, silhouetted in brighter light, is Aro. And Peter, following behind him, pushes past, rushing over to Lucian. Relief washes over him, and worry, because neither of them seem to be doing well. Peter is so pale, stumbling, sinking to his knees before Lucian. Aro, slower and more considered, starts to work on removing Lucian’s restraints.

“You’re here,” Lucian breathes.

“Lucian,” Peter says very earnestly, his eyes not entirely focused.

“Yes?”

“Love you.”

His hands are on Lucian’s face, then at his collar, trying ineffectually to work it open.

“Love you too,” Lucian assures him.

He glances up at Aro, to let him know it’s a plural you, that he is very much included in it. He gives him a small smile in return. Lucian sees a ridge of scar tissue looping around his upper arm, where his sleeve seems to have been torn off to bandage Peter’s arm. Which is odd, because Lucian has never seen Aro scar, seen him keep wounds for more than seconds at a time.

“Are you okay?” he asks, open ended again, still directed at them both.

“Mm. Got you now,” Peter says, leaning against Lucian’s chest.

“He’s lost some blood,” Aro says in explanation, “I didn’t let him get bitten, he was stabbed, by some of the vampires’ human servants. He’ll live.”

It is not lost on Lucian that Aro’s eyes have gone a bright, brilliant crimson. Aro frees his hands, silver shackles falling noisily to the ground. His arms fall limply to his sides, numb from being held up for so many hours. It takes all his concentration not to fall forward, to lean against the collar around his throat, to let himself fall into Peter, but he doesn’t look like he can take that right now.

“And you?” Lucian asks Aro, grateful that the numbness won’t let him feel the burn of his silver exposure for a few more moments.

“They took his arm,” Peter supplies, gathering Lucian’s hands in his.

“Peter helped me put it back on,” Aro says in the indulgent tone of someone praising a small child. 

Peter doesn’t seem to notice the condescension.

“Was gross,” he says.

“Wait-” Lucian says, but then Aro tears loose the collar, lifting it from around his throat.

There are burns at every point of contact, and Aro’s removing it stings. He groans, something closer to a growl than he means to. Aro gently lifts his hair away, and presses a cool kiss to the back of his neck. Just where Peter can’t see. It feels soothing. Then he gets to work on the shackles around Lucian’s feet.

-

They stumble out into the sunshine, all somewhat disoriented, all tired and blinking in the bright light. It is a relief to smell fresh air, something not so heavy with smoke and blood. Peter and Lucian are both leaning on Aro, and it is weird, the three of them with the vampire at the centre. It’s not the way it usually is, but it is nice. Aro and Peter seem to be getting along, which is good. Unexpected, but good.

The car is parked a twenty minute walk away, and they are silent for the most of it. The burns from the silver are already starting to heal, to blend into his old scars, and Lucian is feeling better. Tired and hungry and worried, but better. 

Lucian helps Peter into the back seat, settling into the very corner so Peter can half lay, leaning into him. Aro hands Lucian a plastic bag full of various snacks and sodas.

“Was he shopping for the both of you?” he asks with a raised eyebrow, but Aro shrugs helplessly.

Peter’s eyes have slipped closed, but Lucian nudges him awake again, encouraging him to eat and drink something. He manages to get down a can of soda and a candy bar before passing out, head buried in Lucian’s chest, murmuring something Lucian can’t understand. 

The car is parked on the side of a small side road, barely paved, and so no one but Lucian sees the way Aro sparkles, beautifully, in the afternoon light as he removes his ruined shirt. He puts on a hoodie Peter has left in the car instead, and it looks exceptionally strange. Not just the way in which it doesn’t go with his blood stained trousers at all, other than being black, but because Lucian is starting to realise that with the exception of being naked, Lucian doesn’t think he has ever seen Aro wear anything but formal wear. It doesn’t fit him, not quite, slightly too tight across the arms and a bit longer than Lucian thinks it’s meant to be, but it is his Aro, and nothing could make him not look good. He pulls up the oversized hood and adds a pair of sunglasses, and so long as the angle is right and the sun not in his face he could pass for a severely anaemic goth. 

They stop in the first small town they reach, and Lucian finds an apothecary from which he gets the supplies he needs to clean and stitch up Peter’s stab wound. There is blood in his long, tangled hair, and he probably looks like death, and he can tell the lady behind the counter is reasonably scared of him. He gets some iron supplements too. There’s iron in blood, right? He doesn’t know if it will help, but it can’t hurt too much either, he figures.

He cleans and stitches and bandages Peter’s arm in the car park outside, in the waning light of day. It’s not as deep as he feared, and seems like it will close up nicely, and he wonders how it could have bled enough to make Peter so out of it as he is, barely awake enough to complain about the pain of the stitches.

“Who were they?” Lucian asks.

They have been driving for perhaps two hours, and Peter is snoring gently against his chest. Aro is still wearing the sunglasses, his face hard to read.

“Some of my former allies. They wanted me dead to legitimise their claim to take over the Volturi. I don’t know how they learned of my location, nor you, or how to contact either of us, but then, we have always had talented spies, and I suppose I let myself relax.”

“So they wanted to what, exchange me for you?”

“Something like that, I imagine,” Aro replies.

“Are you angry with me for bringing Peter?”

“For letting him get stabbed, yes, but I don’t imagine you would have been able to stop him from coming even if you tried. He would just have found a way to follow you.”

“Yes, well, in my defence I was fighting ten vampires on my own. All he had to deal with was two humans with barely any combat training. He did do quite well, though, I’m impressed with how you’ve trained him. Almost killed one of them, and incapacitated the other. Surprisingly competent with a sword.”

“But he didn’t kill any?”

“No. I finished them off. I know he doesn’t want to think of himself as a killer. Not of humans, anyway.”

“Good,” Lucian says, and strokes Peter’s hair.

He squirms in his sleep, as if trying to get ever closer.

“Thank you.”

-

Peter is feeling a little better by the time they get back to his place the following morning. He has slept for most of the drive, and though he feels bad about having to be helped and taken care of on his rescue mission, he does appreciate Lucian helping him. He lets the lycan ease him down into a warm bath, leaning back against him and letting him wash the blood and grime from his hair.

“’M sorry I couldn’t be more,” he murmurs, unsure exactly what he wants to say, whether what he is truly wanting to apologise for is not being superpowered enough to save his immortal and incomprehensibly strong boyfriend.

“It’s all right,” Lucian tells him, kissing his cheek, “you came and saved me together. You did so good, my love, so good.”

“Mm. Got hurt. Didn’t mean to get so hurt. Was gonna storm in and take all the credit,” he says, leaning into Lucian and looking up at the ceiling, watching the steam curl above them.

“They were too strong for any human to beat on their own,” Lucian says, “even someone as formidable as you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

After, when they’re dry and somewhat more comfortable, and Peter has tried to put something soothing on the silver burns that still linger on Lucian’s skin, though lighter, now, they crawl into bed. It feels a bit strange, and Peter can’t quite work out why. There is a thought, an idea, floating just outside the limits of his ability to think right now, so he pushes it away, and holds Lucian close.

“Promise you won’t disappear again?”

“I promise.”


	34. 2020: Graphic Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some art some people wanted to exist...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on tumblr @indiasierrabravo and you can see art like this full minutes before i put it in new chapters to give the illusion of productivity  
> Also Peter wore his own merch hoodie to go fight vampires because any promo opportunity is good


	35. 2014: Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yknow like the les mis song. But with vampires. And werewolves. And goths. All arguably better choices than three chapters about the parisian sewer system.

For the first time in over a century, Aro wishes he could sleep. He lies on the bed in the guest room he occupies; wishing closing his eyes would turn off his mind. From across the penthouse he can hear the soft noises as Peter falls asleep, hear the soft murmurs of Lucian that he loves his human. Aro tugs one of the many pillows piled against the wall in an effort to make it into a sort of divan situation more suited for reading over his head.

“I love you.”

The words are just a bit louder, and Aro wonders if they are meant for him or Peter. Perhaps both of them, again. He wishes he could join the two of them in there, and- and yes, actually, he does find that he means both of them, now. That he _cares_ for the human now. Wants him to be safe, and only mildly annoyed and inconvenienced. Wants to lie surrounded by two warm bodies, full of life for him to leech.

It’s disgusting, of course, perverse. To some degree. Sulpicia, of course, had been a human when he seduced her, but making her like him had always been his plan. It had been so long ago, though, when it was easier to see humans like people, rather than either potential vampires or food.

“How do you make peace with it?” he asks, voice soft, “loving a human?”

There is no immediate answer, and he wonders for a moment if Lucian has fallen asleep, but no. Breathing is too fast, still, and heartbeat too. Thinking, then.

“What choice do I have?”

Lucian’s voice is soft and far away. Aro looks at the wall, one in a series separating them. Sees Lucian in his mind’s eye, imagines him looking back, even as his arms hold Peter close. Oh, it hurts, a little. And it will hurt more once they figure out what he did back there in the vampires’ hide out. He wonders whether he should confess. Would that make him look better? Perhaps. And the hope that Peter will never remember is faint.

“I suppose,” he breathes, “but it seems difficult all the same. I am starting, though, to understand your choice.”

“Yes?” Lucian asks, voice a little breathless, a reaction and perhaps also to keep from waking Peter.

“Yes. He is… I don’t know. I don’t know how or why, but I am truly am starting to see him as I think you do.”

It is quiet for a moment, and Aro turns over onto his side, staring at the wall as though if he looks hard enough the light will shine through, allowing him to see his beloved lycan.

“Would… would you like to?” Lucian offers.

“You don’t want me to,” Aro argues, half-heartedly, because he does, of course he does.

“I think it would make it easier, for us all,” Lucian says.

“But you don’t want me to,” Aro insists, despite himself.

He hears rustling of fabric, a whisper of skin against skin, and then approaching footsteps. The door opens, and Lucian stands there, hovering and uncertain. His hair hangs down, partially obscuring his face, throwing dark lines of shadow across pale skin. He is wearing a pair of pyjama trousers, fabric soft, and his torso is bare. Aro sits up, gestures for him to join him on the bed.

“I want us all to- to get along,” Lucian tells him, sitting down next to him, the mattress dipping and forcing them closer.

Aro doesn’t mind. He can tell, also, that get along isn’t quite what Lucian means, and he has a feeling he knows what he means. Still, though.

“Yes,” Aro agrees, “but are you sure?”

He brushes Lucian’s hair from his face, and forces their eyes to meet. There is uncertainty there, but Lucian nods anyway.

“Then yes. Yes of course I want to know you, to see inside you, my dear sweet wolf.”

He folds Lucian into an embrace, the lycan’s face resting against his shoulder, their arms around each other. Aro waits a moment, let’s himself focus on the warmth of his skin, the feel of his hair against his skin, of his arms around him. Then he opens his mind, and all at once he can feel his own arms around himself, can feel how cold his skin feels to Lucian.

Aro closes his eyes and he sees the last three decades of Lucian’s life. He sees his war with the vampires go from icy cold to superheated in the space of a night, sees Lucian convinced that he is dying, and then waking up having lost everything. If Aro’s body were capable of producing tears, it would. But no, instead he watches Lucian roam the world, lost and alone for years, watches him meet this strange human and develop feelings for him. He sees how difficult the last few months have been for him too, how much he misses being able to properly be with Aro, though having him here makes him happy too. How he has wished Aro would stay, wouldn’t be able to regain his power.

It is reassuring, Aro thinks, that Lucian can be selfish too sometimes. He is by far the best person of the three of them, and Aro delights in catching him out, just a little bit. Especially, of course, when what he wants is Aro. Letting go of his window into Lucian’s mind, he releases his grip on him, just a little. Holds him still, but without probing further into his thoughts.

“You too, then?”

The visions of the three of them meld in his mind, become one, with small variations. A wish, that evidently all of them share, though Peter more reluctantly than the others. He strokes Lucian’s hair.

“Yes,” Lucian murmurs, his voice so he soft.

Neither is pulling away, both enjoying the contact, the warmth. Aro sighs, and makes a decision.

“Peter has thought about it too. He had a dream, on the drive up, about the three of us. Together.”

Lucian freezes, and pulls back, not quite severing contact, but almost, looking at Aro with wide eyes.

“You read his mind again.”

“Yes,” Aro admits, “although in my defence it was not my intention.”

“But you can control it,” Lucian argues.

He sits back, pulling away just a little, and Aro curses himself. Admitting to your wrongs never helps. Aro puts a hand on Lucian’s shoulder, but he shrugs it away. That bad, then.

“I am sorry,” offers Aro.

“It’s not me you need to apologise to,” Lucian points out.

“I know. It was- it was after the fight. One of the other vampires, they, ah-“ he shrugs of the soft black shirt he is wearing enough that he can indicate the rough scar that still circles his upper arm, “they tore my arm off.”

“What?” Lucian’s eyes are impossibly wider.

He leans close, a finger carefully tracing the knotted thread of tissue. Takes the hand of that arm into his own, almost flinching when Aro’s fingers close around his own.

“And it’s- What-“

“I had Peter reattach it. I- I needed his help. And it is unimaginably painful, I wasn’t entirely in control of myself.”

This is true, of course. Had he had a moment to think, he would have drained the other humans in the room instead of Peter, but it was fresh blood, so close, and he needs it to heal properly, to help the arm work again as fast as he needs, to dull the pain.

“I see,” Lucian says, “I’m sorry. It- I can’t imagine how painful something like that would be.”

“I’m sure you can,” replies Aro, who of course has just seen how Lucian felt when he had silver running through his veins.

“I- yes. Perhaps. Still. I’m sure Peter isn’t happy about it.”

“I do not think he knows,” Aro says.

“No?”

“I don’t believe he noticed, this time, there was- A lot was happening. You saw how he was, he had lost a lot of blood, gotten hit in the head a few times. Are you going to tell him?”

“I think he deserves to know,” Lucian says.

“It will only upset him,” Aro tries to argue.

“Still,” Lucian insists.

“Fine,” Aro says, “tomorrow. I’ll tell him. All right?”

“Yes. Thank you, Aro.”

Aro looks at him.

“Will you stay? Just another moment?”

Lucian nods, and Aro leans into him once more, his warm wolf, full of life, feeling like safety.

-

Two days after their return to Vegas Peter is starting to feel better. His arm is healing well, if impossibly slow compared to his immortal flatmates. He still has to be careful not to move it too much, and to clean it properly. And wearing the leather coat for his show hurts like fuck, but he takes some painkillers and a few shots and gets through it, though the protective bandage isn't quite enough. There is a lot of dramatic gesturing involved, and Lucian gently suggests he take a few nights off, but he already disappeared for 40 hours without warning, skipping out on one show, and he really fucking can't afford not to be there for another. It's not like they can do it without him, after all. It's by his design, that, and it never used to be a problem, he never had much cause to leave Vegas before.

It's in his dressing room, after the show, that he remembers. It's the scent that does it. He takes off the coat as careful as he can, but he trips on an abandoned vodka bottle on the floor. Crashing to the floor he grunts in pain as he feels the stitches tear, feels warm blood trickle down his arm. He gets up carefully, shrugging his coat off properly and seeing the mess. There's bruising around the wound, little round ones, like fingers, going yellow now. Like fingers. Like- like being pulled, like a fanged maw on his arm, feeling like his life and his soul was being sucked from his body.

Fuck. Bloody vampire bastard.

Peter leaves an apologetic note about the bloodstain to the costume person, tugs on a tank top and hurries up to confront the bloodsucker. 

In the lift up to his flat he hums with frustration, with righteous anger, tapping out a tense rhythm against the mirror like chrome of the walls. Wonders what the most satisfying way to confront Aro is. In private? Where he feels free to get properly angry without upsetting Lucian? Or in front of him, so he can make sure Lucian overhears it, so he'll get angry with Aro too?

The decision, in the end, is made for him, because when Peter walks into the hall of weapons, Aro and Lucian are stood there together, arguing over the historical and practical value of a blessed stake.

"But it works on certain variants of your kind," Lucian is arguing.

"But it's not real," Aro is pointing out, and is about to follow this up, but Peter interrupts him.

"You!"

Peter points accusingly at Aro, for clarity and drama both. He uses his wounded arm, which does add to the effect, what with his blood dripping onto the floor, but it does also hurt like fuck.

"You sto-" he begins, but Lucian is suddenly at his side, inspecting his wound with worry.

"Your stitches, you've ripped them. Are you all right? Come into the bathroom, I'll clean and restitch it, love."

"I- no hold on," Peter stutters, but Lucian is leading him by his (uninjured) through the door.

He turns his head to glare at Aro, a warning that this isn't over. The vampire's lightening red eyes are oddly sad. Perhaps he knows what Peter is about to accuse him of, and is already resigned to leaving.

"What happened?" Lucian asks as he cleans the blood from Peter's wound, picking out the little bits of torn thread.

"Tripped," Peter mutters, "in my dressing room. Nothing to do with the show, promise. Like 46 hours to the next one anyway, it's- ow! It's fine."

Lucian looks into his eyes and Peter can feel the worry coming off him in waves. He rolls his eyes at the overprotective wolf.

"'M fine," he repeats, trying to channel all of his show persona into convincing Lucian, all eyelined intense gaze.

He's not entirely sure it works, because Lucian leans in and kisses his cheek, and it's so terribly soft and gentle. Then he gets out the needle and thread.

"Do you think, maybe, that you should consider not drinking before your show?" Lucian asks gently as he starts to redo the stitches.

Peter swears, in both pain and indignation. 

"It might help you not tear these again," he suggests.

"Fuck," Peter replies, "no. Need it."

"All right," Lucian acknowledges.

He sinks the needle into Peter's flesh once more, cruelly and helpfully. But he doesn't argue the point, not even to distract Peter from the pain. 

"What were you going to tell Aro?" Lucian asks as he cleans up leftover blood.

So he doesn't get to dramatically confront the bloodsucker, then. His hand rests Lucian's knee as he works, so he can't pull away.

"To fuck off," Peter mutters.

But no. All right. Rat him out to Lucian and have him do the anger, that works too.

"Back in the vamp place, he drank my blood. It's why I got so fucked up. Wasn't the stab wound, was that fucker trying to _eat_ me."

To Peter's surprise, Lucian doesn't look entirely outraged, just sad and disappointed. 

"Did I- was I unclear? He tried to drink all my blood, Lucian!"

Lucian doesn't reply, cleaning up instead.

"Yes," acknowledges eventually, "I thought perhaps he might have."

"What?" Peter demands, "you knew?"

"I suspected," Lucian corrects, his voice still infuriatingly soft and careful.

He puts away his things, washes his hands, and looks at Peter. Puts his hands on his shoulders.

"He was in pain," Lucian explains, "you saw that. He lost his arm."

"I- well, only for a few minutes," Peter argues, "I lost a bunch of blood. And I can't magically heal myself."

"I'm not saying it was a good choice. Or that Aro doesn't owe you an apology."

"I- no. What? Are you that blinded by your history? By- by what, by how much you miss fucking him or whatever?"

Lucian looks down, away. Peter feels oddly guilty, and how fucking unfair is that? He is the victim here. He is the one whose blood got stolen by someone who was there to help him, someone on whom his life depended. 

"It is terrible, I agree," Lucian says, but he doesn't look up at Peter.

"Don't do this," Peter pleads, "don't be so fucking- so- _nice_. Just- just get angry, Lucian, for once, just get angry on my behalf!"

Lucian's hands curl into fists at his sides for a moment, release, clench, release. He looks up at Peter with pale blue eyes, inhuman and eerie and beautiful.

"I do, Peter. I do, all the time, and I-" he takes a breath, and sits back.

"I try so very hard to be better for you. To be kind, and soft, and more human. To not be the raging beast you feared I was."

Peter's guts twist themselves into a knot of guilt.

"I never asked you to," he says.

"You didn't need to. It's what you deserve, I don't want you to feel like you've let a monster into your house."

"More than one, you mean."

"Peter."

"You're derailing."

"You- you asked."

"I just want my fucking boyfriend to stand up for me, is that too much to ask?"

Lucian sighs.

"Of course not."

Peter is becoming more and more aware that they are having this conversation while Aro is out there, hearing everything. 

"Fuck," he mutters, sinking to the floor.

"Yeah," Lucian agrees.

"I don't want to be angry at you, I want to be angry at Aro," Peter says, running a hand through his hair, leaning back against the cool tile.

"You don't usually seem to have a problem with that," Lucian says, but there is a little smile there, and Peter can't muster the outrage he felt earlier.

"Yeah. I'm gonna- gonna go and talk with Aro and then take an angry nap."

He gets up, wincing and flexing his newly sown arm.

"It's nearly midnight, Peter. You can't nap at midnight."

"Fucking watch me," Peter announces, leaning down to kiss the top of Lucian's head.

He heads back into the flat, but Aro isn't even there any more. Ran away, maybe, rather than get shouted at. Fucking coward. Well then.


	36. 2014: Resolution?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 🧛🏻♂️💜🐺💜🙍♂️

Peter runs the pad of his thumb across one of Lucian’s sharp claws, over and over again, enjoys the soft sharp comforting scrape of it. Lucian’s muzzled furry head rests in Peter’s lap. It’s not a full moon but Lucian had said he just needed to be a wolf for a bit. He always prefaces it with an apology, and that breaks Peter’s heart a little bit each time, that Lucian feels it’s a part of him Peter doesn’t want to see. It’s entirely untrue, of course. Peter loves Lucian, loves all of him, whatever form he takes. 

  
He runs a hand through the fur on Lucian’s head, between his pointed ears, and it may not be particularly soft, but it feels nice still. Takes his large half paw half hand in his own, seeing how large and strange it looks by comparison, touches the leathery paw pads on his palm and the tips of his clawed fingers. Lucian tolerates his poking well enough, making soft sounds Peter chooses to interpret as good. There is something playing on the flat screen mounted to the wall opposite, volume turned down low for Lucian’s sensitive wolf ears' sake, but Peter has stopped paying attention. 

  
“Have I informed you that I love you more than I have ever loved anyone?” he asks Lucian, his tone neutral and his words are meant so intensely that it hurts. 

  
Lucian huffs softly and leans into him. It’s easier to tell him outrageously emotional and intense stuff like this when he can’t say it back, so Peter won’t have to worry whether he does so out of some obligation. Even now, after all this time, doubt seeps in, running like rivers between the grooves in his brain, taking the place of his cerebrospinal fluid. He wishes he could keep his mind from it, it feels like he’s being unfair to Lucian, but it’s hard to believe himself to be worthy of love. Proper personal individual love, not just distant adoration and lust. 

  
Lucian nudges him with his muzzle. He seems to have an uncanny ability to sense whenever Peter’s anxiety takes over. Maybe he can hear it in his heartbeat, can smell whatever the chemical or molecular makeup of his moods are. Or he’s just able to predict what will make Peter upset. That would be impressive, as it’s never something Peter has mastered, and he’s had to live inside his brain for decades. 

  
“Yeah,” Peter says, “you’re right. Brain bad. What’s happening in your fluffy head?” 

  
Lucian, being a wolf with very limited speech ability beyond flavours of growls and howls, doesn’t say much. 

  
“Yeah, sensible that,” Peter tells him. 

  
He turns his attention back to the TV for a bit, but he’s lost at least a good two thirds of the episode, and he has no clue who has fucked whom, nor what this will do to their scores. Lucian shifts on top of him, pushing closer moving a long leg bending in all the wrong directions so it hangs down from the sofa. 

  
“Why don’t you have a tail when you’re like this, all wolfy?” Peter asks. 

  
Lucian sighs, one inky black eye looking up at him. 

  
“I know it’s not a choice, but you are the first one of the species, so it’s either your fault or your mum or dad's, whoever they were.” 

  
They have established, long ago, that this is not a sore subject for Lucian, not like it is for Peter for, well, quite obvious reasons. Lucian doesn’t reply. 

  
“I mean, I suppose many film werewolves also don’t have tails. Bodies don’t have to make up a whole new limb- well, not a limb, I suppose. An appendage? No making up new things, just shifting about a bit all the parts that are already there. Still got eyes and ears and teeth and legs, just a bit different. Hmm. Aro had fought some werewolves, right? Who weren’t lycans. D'you know what their tail situation was?” 

  
Lucian shakes his head. 

  
“They did have tails, as a matter of fact,” says Aro, who has appeared in the doorway. 

  
Peter jumps, or tries to, only there is a very large and heavy lycan in his lap. He settles for glaring instead, at the vampire who is, still, for once, dressed somewhat like a normal person. He has been gone for the whole night and most of the day after disappearing, and he is still wearing Peter’s merch hoodie. Peter wonders how much he hates going round being free advertising for a show about vampire hunting. He’s got on Peter’s sunglasses too, but currently they are pushed up into his hair, no doubt tangling painfully. Peter almost regrets not having worn his heart shaped ones. 

  
“Yeah?” Peter asks, because he’s gonna yell at the fucker, but he does also want to learn about werewolves. 

  
It’s relevant to his job, he justifies it to himself. Both of them, even. 

  
“What did they look like?” 

  
Aro comes a little closer, settling on the furthermost piece of furniture, looking briefly at Lucian’s wolf form with a surprisingly soft fondness in his eyes. 

  
“Not so impressive and fearsome as Lucian, by far. They largely just turned into normal wolves, only somewhat larger. All four legged, not able to be bipedal. No hands. Quite strong, though, and, I believe, not harmed by silver. They do, however, age, so I think lycans have the advantage.” 

  
Peter pets through Lucian’s fur, satisfied. 

  
“And they were quite good at killing you lot, yeah?” 

  
Aro sighs, and Lucian nudges Peter’s stomach with his head, which he assumes means please don’t start any more fights than you have to. Which he supposes is fair. He’s got the most important one already. 

  
“They were,” Aro says. 

  
Peter does remember, then, Lucian mentioning that Aro’s wife had died in that battle, and even though he’s sure they both ate people, he isn’t going to go on about it. A low blow even for him, even against monsters. 

  
“Right. Anyway. You fucked off last night.”   
Aro makes a face that implies that while he would not use that phrasing, he doesn’t refute the rest of the accusation.   
“Cause you heard?” 

  
“I did. It sounded like you might, perhaps, need some time to calm down.” 

  
As usual any implication that he needs to calm down makes Peter’s blood boil, but Lucian is still there, curling a clawed hand around one of Peter’s. 

  
“Well. Didn’t. Why the fuck, after everything you know about me, would you think it was okay to drink my blood?” 

  
“Well, you did, previously, allow me to.” 

  
“Yeah, once! And not with your-" Peter grimaces, “your mouth.” 

  
Aro opens his mouth, as if to ask what else he is meant to drink with, but seems to think better of it. 

  
“I am sorry, Peter. I truly am, although I don’t expect you to believe it. I- hold on, if you would let me finish, I will listen to however much swearing and yelling you wish, but do please let me say this first.” 

  
Lucian lays a decisive paw on Peter’s hands, lifts his head enough to push it into his chest, which Peter interprets as a plea to let the bloodsucker speak. 

  
“Fine, whatever.” 

  
“Thank you,” Aro says, and he does sound sincere, but what does that matter, couple of millennia of practise would make anyone a good liar. 

  
“I did drink your blood, you are right about that. But as you are aware, I had been quite seriously harmed in the fight.” 

  
“Really? Took your arm like five minutes tops to grow back in place. How bad can it be?” 

  
Peter feels claws curl into his skin, not so it hurts, not by far, but it’s a warning, very clearly. 

  
“It still hurts,” Aro says, more quietly now, “but I am not expecting you to care. We are very strong and resilient, but not entirely invulnerable. But I needed blood, to heal properly, to make it work, and not just be attached to me.” 

  
“And I was there.” 

  
“You were,” agrees Aro, and he looks downright sad, now. 

  
Peter isn’t sure whether it’s on purpose. If it is he's laying it on a bit thickly, but Peter cannot imagine he feels genuine regret. Probably just wants Lucian to not be mad at him. Wants Peter not to throw him out. 

  
“There were the vampires' human servants or snacks or whatever,” Peter suggests. 

  
“There were. But you were right there, the scent of your blood overpowering. It was instinct. And I regret it, I do, but it was not a conscious choice to hurt you. I don’t want that. Or rather, I don’t want that any more, I suppose is more accurate.” 

  
At least that’s a shred of honesty. 

  
“No? Big scary vampire lord gone soft? On a vampire hunter, of all things? What will fancy vampire society say.” 

  
“It mostly died, at least the members of it whose opinion is worth caring about, so not terribly much, I expect,” Aro says quietly, a sad smile on his face. 

  
Peter feels a faint sting of guilt, but he refuses to deal with that. Feeling bad for dead vampires is bad for business, and besides, they’re all mass murderers. Or serial killers. Genocidists? Maybe not. But horrible, all the same. 

  
“Doesn’t make it less pathetic,” Peter announces, unsure of what he is trying to do, other than take out his anger at Aro, however he can. 

  
He's not doing a very good job of it, though, he admits that. Lucian is a solid weight of judgement in his lap, and a source of guilt somehow too. Fuck Peter hates this. Feeling like he doesn’t get to be as angry as he wants, and if he does he keeps feeling bad about it afterwards. He didn’t use to feel this guilty about being shitty to people. Is this what becoming a better, or at least less bad person feels like? Is that what Lucian is slowly doing to him? Lucian who is so soft and kind, however much he claims it is an effort to be so? 

  
“Perhaps not, but I think I have been unfair to you, Peter.” 

  
“Yeah, you think?” 

  
“It becomes difficult, with how young humans die, to see you all as people in your own right, to not discount you as food or potential converts. But you are. You are a quite extraordinary human, and though your hatred is towards my kind, I can understand it. I can respect your effort to follow through, even if you do want me dead.” 

  
“Deader” Peter corrects. 

  
Lucian doesn’t react at all, but Peter can feel it, feel him like a bloody wolf shaped angel on his shoulder, telling him to be nicer to Aro. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. 

  
“That’s, okay, whatever, nice and extremely weird of you. Doesn’t change the fact that drinking my blood is a pretty big fucking step across the line, yeah? Like I get you were in pain but come on, you’ve been on Earth since the fucking bronze age or something, you’ve had worse.” 

  
“I haven’t, actually, but I respect your point.” 

  
“It’s not as bad as the mind reading was, which I can’t believe I’m saying, but it’s pretty fucking bad. What if you had turned me? I’m not about to make my show that fucking ironic.” 

  
“I couldn’t have. It’s a process, and believe me, you would know if you were going through it.” 

  
“Right. Whatever. At least you didn’t read my min- wait. Wait fuck. Your messed up power's all touchy feely based, isn’t it?” 

  
Horror dawns on Peter’s face, and at the very same time a smile starts to spread on Aro’s face. 

  
“Oh god,” Peter says. 

  
Aro’s smile is full of delight, all trace of remorse gone. 

  
“Oh, I am going to kill you and then myself,” Peter says, voice as neutral as he can make it. 

  
“It’s perfectly understandable, Peter,” Aro tells him, “we are genetically made to be attractive to humans, it’s not your fault you can’t resist.” 

  
“I am going to throw myself into the sea,” Peter reiterates, hating how Aro has managed to completely flip the advantage. 

  
“Well,” the vampire announces, “it has been good talking to you. Clearing this up. But I’ll leave you two to it. But here, before I forget, are your possessions.” 

  
And he places the sunglasses on the table, then takes off the hoodie too, folding it neatly, and Peter hates how close attention he pays to what Aro’s bare torso looks like. His skin is as pale as his face, smooth like marble. He has muscles, clearly, but less pronouncedly so than Lucian. He’s more solidly built, less lean, and Peter jas to actively stop himself from staring as Aro leaves. 

  
“If you ever feel like you need to talk about or mention this ever again, please don’t,” Peter tells Lucian, and buries his face deep in his lycan love's fur. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this in the notes app on my phone during a bus trip and it is riddled with typos and i am so sorry


	37. 2014: Hunters and the Hunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter continues to live out his dreams of becoming Buffy

They creep through the corridor, all very quiet. At least, to Peter they sound very quiet, though he imagines Aro and Lucian, and their prey, for that matter, can hear them just fine. It’s a group of vampires, currently holed up here, in a flat at the top of this building, who have been feeding on locals. There are quite a lot of them, which is why Peter agreed to Aro coming. Much as he doesn’t trust the vampire to properly participate in the slaughter of his own kind (“They are an entirely different and inferior strain of vampires, Peter, I have nothing whatsoever in common with them”), he does appreciate how formidable he is in a fight. Also, there is the whole thing where he has read Peter’s mind again, and has, now, infinite blackmail material.

Peter readies his crossbow. He had Lucian help him pick out a good one, and get hold of wooden bolts. Quieter than the shotgun. Probably not ideal, though, for close quarters, but Peter also has a couple of stakes, his sword, a crucifix and some holy water balloons. (Look. They’re lighter than glass bottles, and he’s had issue with those not breaking properly. Water balloons are literally made for this purpose.)

It’s an imposing door at the end of the hallway, because why wouldn’t it be. It looms at them. Even Peter, now, can hear the sound of muted voices from inside, the soft hint of some music playing, not yet identifiable. He looks to Lucian, who nods, and kicks open the door. 

Inside are at least a dozen vampires, a tiny coven all holed up, although their lair of choice is nearly as big as Peter’s penthouse. The windows are shuttered, and the furniture all dragged around to form a circle in the centre of the open main space of the flat. The vampires are all different sorts of ages; the youngest a girl who can’t have been more than fifteen when she died, the oldest at least seventy. That must be rough, Peter thinks, being turned at the very end of one’s life, when death looms close, but to be trapped for eternity in a deteriorating body. But this leads his thoughts in directions he does not want them to go.

One of the vampires, a man who looks about thirty, hisses at them, revealing a mouth of fangs, hands sharpening into claws, and that’s good. Peter appreciates when the vampires look a little monstrous. Makes it feel less like killing people. He shoots a bolt at the vampire, but misses the heart by several inches, and though it howls in pain, it also yanks the bolt out, breaking it in two and tossing it to the floor. There is a moment, quiet, tense, before everyone starts to move.

Peter struggles for a moment to reload his crossbow, but then tosses it to the floor and ducks when the fifteen year old girl vampire lunges at him, claws brandished. He mostly gets out of the way, but feels he claws rip into his ankle, and swears, kicking at her with his free foot. Without him entirely understanding how, having been busy trying to extract his sword from under himself, she is on top of him, one clawed hand holding his wrist to the ground, her face opening up, splitting like some horrible lovecraftian monstrosity, and he comes to the realisation these are the same kind of vampire as Jerry was. 

Just as he is about to reach for a stake, moments before he was absolutely about to get the upper hand, the vampire is ripped away, and, without Peter even seeing how it happens, she shatters into dust. When the air above him clears, he sees Aro looking down at him, his expression unreadable. Still, reluctantly, Peter grabs the offered hand and lets Aro help him to his feet.

“I had it under control,” he mutters.

“Oh, I’ve no doubt,” Aro says, and Peter can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic.

There is blood in his usually perfect hair, tangling it into wet chunks. It looks terrible, but it is satisfying, somehow, to see him less put together. Perhaps it’ll teach him to stop wearing designer suits to go vampire hunting. 

Peter draws his sword, readies a holy water balloon and tosses it into the crowd of vampires fighting Lucian. They hiss, and steam rises off them, but it is not enough to do more than distract them, and though Peter intends to come to Lucian’s assistance, he is hindered by the vampire attacking him from the other side. 

This one looks like a middle aged housewife, only her mouth is open quite literally from ear to ear, fangs bared, blood dripping from her claws. She hisses at Peter.

“Yeah? Fuck you too,” he tells her, and lunges at her with the sword.

It pierces her side, but she doesn’t seem all that bothered by it, beyond more hissing, moving towards him, slow and careful. He thrusts the sword against her chest again, but she grabs the blade with her hand, moving it out of the way and slicing off three of her fingers in the process. Peter changes tactic, taking a step closer and kicking her in the gut, which distracts her enough he manages to cut the sword into her neck. He’s not done it with quite enough power, though, and it sticks in her spinal cord with a horrible wet crunching.

“Gross,” he informs the vampire, who, despite the sword he is trying to pull from her neck, manages to snarl back at him.

The momentum when the sword finally comes loose is enough for him to stumble, almost falling, and he feels claws on his shoulder and whirls around, sword ready, but it is a transformed Lucian, helping to steady him. Peter gives him a soft smile, then whirls back around to face the vampire who is so much closer, head hanging sickeningly to the side. He swings the sword again, and this time manages to finish the job, coughing as she goes up in dust. 

“Are there-” he begins to say as he turns around, just in time to see Aro use one of the stakes he has dropped to the floor to turn the last of the remaining vampires to dust.

He tosses the stake at Peter, who does catch it, but in the process drops his sword, and brushes some of the remaining vampire dust from his suit, still mostly immaculate, though there are a few spots of blood barely visible, black on black. The floor of the flat is covered in small heaps of dust and ashes. Lucian, a massive wolf, has bloodstains all down his throat and around his mouth.

“Right,” says Peter, dropping the stake to the floor, and sitting down on the armrest of the nearest sofa, taking a breath.

He makes himself watch with a calm face as Lucian shrinks back down into a more human shape. It’s still strange and unsettling to see, still an unpleasant looking process, but he doesn’t want Lucian to know that. Not Aro either. He doesn’t need any more reasons to feel the superior suitor.

“You all right?” he asks Lucian, who as a human is still so covered in blood as to make it difficult to see whether he has been hurt.

He finds the bag they had left outside the door in the corridor, an extra set of clothes for just such an occasion. Peter finds himself wondering how he dealt with the amount of clothes he destroys in the process of a rapid and unprepared for transformation before the advent of mass produced and readily available clothes. A lot of repairs, probably. He assumes there is no dark ages version of tear-away trousers. These days he orders sets of sweats in bulk, because as much as they plan, it is difficult to avoid unexpected situations, to plan for everything, and to find time to undress in the middle of a fight.

Peter watches Aro attempt to comb the blood from his hair using his fingers and failing miserably, succeeding only in spreading it onto his hands, and making a face of frustration. There is something almost appealing about his being, for a moment, more messed up, less in control, less a perfect statue of a man than usual. 

Peter is just gathering up the weapons when a voice rings through, loud and commanding.

“Drop the weapons.”

Peter looks up, seeing the gun aimed at his face from mere metres away, beyond it the woman holding it. She looks, he thinks, like a vampire hunter. She too carries stakes, has several crucifixes hanging around her neck and one of those trench coats people wear in films to go hunt monsters. He lowers the stake he is holding deliberately to the ground, holding up a hand to signal to Aro and Lucian that hey, don’t kill this person yet. Hopes they understand. Another human hunter might be a valuable ally.

“Weapons dropped, all good,” he says, “but listen, you’re too late, we took out the vampires nesting here, no danger, us.”

She looks from him to Lucian and Aro who both, unfortunately, have vampire blood smeared across their faces. It’s a telling pattern of blood, unfortunately, and even Peter has to admit human hunters would be unlikely to bite the vampires they hunt.

“Why haven’t you killed these two?” she demands, gun wavering between the three of them, as if a regular bullet could harm them.

Of course, it’s possible she’s got silver bullets there, but still, it seems unlikely. Peter gets up to his feet slowly, hands in the air surrender style.

“Oh, no, these two are tame, no danger.”

Aro snorts, which does somewhat undermine his point.

“You can’t tame a vampire,” the woman argues, “they are undead monsters. They cannot be trusted.”

“Look mate, I agree in principle, I do, but these guys won’t harm humans, all right? You have my word.”

“The word of an alcoholic show biz vampire hunter who decided to try it for real and failed so bad he teamed up with the monsters?”

“Come on, that’s unfair,” Peter argues, although he supposes she technically might have a decent point.

“Well,” Aro says, clearly of the same mind.

“Shut up,” Peter hisses at him.  
“Look,” he continues, doing his best to seem sensible and reasonable, though neither are his strong suit, “we can work together, pool our resources, doesn’t that sound like a better plan than shooting a colleague?”

“You’re a joke, not a hunter,” she retorts.

“Harsh,” he mutters, and is about to keep arguing when she fires the gun.

The next few seconds are confusing, and he finds himself suddenly sitting on the floor, unharmed except for a bruise on his arm, with Aro standing in front of him. Beyond him is a spreading pool of blood, the feet of the vampire hunter at an odd angle. Lucian crouches next to him, and hand on his shoulder.

“You okay?” 

“Uh, yeah, I- what?”

He lets Lucian pull him to his feet, just as Aro lets go of the woman, who crumbles to a heap on the floor. Her neck is an open wound, blood seeping into her clothes. Her eyes have gone glassy and empty. Aro, when turns around, has fresh blood on his face, running down his throat, and his eyes have gone a brilliant crimson.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Peter says.

He does see, however, the little hole where the bullet went through Aro’s clothes, leaving a hole through which pale unbroken skin can be seen. Which okay, he saved Peter’s life. Again. Possibly twice today.

“You didn’t have to kill her,” he says, though not with the rage he feels is warranted. 

“She shot you!” Aro argues, as if the possibility of Peter’s death was upsetting to him, rather than a convenient way to get Lucian all to himself a few decades early.

“I- yeah, all right, a bad move on her part, clearly, but you didn’t have to, you know,” he trails off, gesturing at the everything of the situation.

“What?” demands Aro, “I should have left her alive so she could come back to the penthouse and try to kill all of us? You’re not exactly a subtle person, Peter, and she clearly knew who you are.”

“Well- well, okay, sure,” he says, though he is anything but.

He feels like he’s going to come up with a good solution they could have found, but he can’t think of anything right now, he’s too stressed, and tired, and outraged.

“Did you have to feed on her?” he demands, struggling for the moral high-ground he can feel himself slipping down from.

“I thought you humans were all about reusing and recycling these days,” Aro says, “surely you wouldn’t want all that blood going to waste?”

He is smiling now, enjoying this, and Peter resents him for it.

“Fuck,” Peter says, “right, whatever. Lets just get rid of the body and go home.”


	38. 2014: In League With Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Aro play nice, Peter tries to be a selfless person with limited success, and Lucian learns something about himself.

"Thank you," Peter mutters, when they have gotten back to the penthouse, and Lucian has gone to shower off some of the blood, "for, y'know, saving my ass."

"It is no trouble," Aro says, his voice just a little guarded, red eyes watching Peter carefully.

Peter collapses gracelessly into a chair, wincing as his new set of bruises impact with the intricately shaped metal armrests.

"Why did you?"

"Why did I not let you die?

Peter nods.

"Yeah, you could've. Could have not taken a bullet for me."

Aro shrugs.

"Bullets cannot penetrate my skin. They pose no danger to me."

"Yeah, but... still. If I die there wouldn't be anything standing between you and Lucian. I know you don't want him to be angry at you, but I don't think he would blame you."

"No," agrees Aro, "he wouldn't. And you are right, but your memory would stay with him. He would grieve you, for a long time. He still grieves Sonja, six hundred years later."

"I suppose that's true," Peter agrees, and feels overwhelmed and somehow guilty at the thought of Lucian spending centuries after he dies being sad, missing him.

But it is, too, gratifying to think Aro believes Lucian loves Peter as much as he did Sonja. But it doesn't entirely make sense.

"Wouldn't being there to support a grieving Lucian endear him more to you, wouldn't that still be better than watching him and me together?"

Aro looks at him for a moment, and sighs, sitting down in the chair opposite him. Peter becomes dimly aware that he can no longer hear the shower running.

"I know you think me a monster, but I don't actually want Lucian to be heartbroken, to lose someone he clearly loves so much. Not even I am that heartless."

Peter feels a twinge of guilt curling somewhere in his guts. Which is stupid, which is bad. Aro has killed incomprehensibly many people, eaten them. He killed and drained a person only an hour earlier. Peter should not feel guilty for accusing him of being selfish, which he so clearly is. He does so anyway.

"Suppose I should be grateful," Peter mutters, and Aro makes a face that communicates that he agrees, and wants Peter to know it, but is too polite to say so out loud.

"And, and I understand you will not want to believe this, but I do find that I like you, Peter."

"What, because my blood tastes good?"

"Well, it's not exceptional, so you need not worry I will bite you because you are irresistible or some such nonsense."

Peter debates whether he should be insulted by this. He thinks Aro can see it in his face.

"That's a good thing. Some vampires become obsessed with the blood of a single person, become addicted to it. Like your kind and narcotics, only of course the source is, by necessity, limited. It can drive them mad."

"Oh, well. Good?"

"Good," agrees Aro, "but again, that is not what I meant. I don't know if it is because Lucian loves you so, because I have seen in his mind how he feels about you, or if it is because I have seen inside your mind."

Peter cringes at this, and privately feels that if anything that should have had the opposite effect. But perhaps there is something to what Lucian had said, to being fully known and accepted for all one is. If Aro notices Peter's reaction, he doesn't comment.

"But I do find that I genuinely like you, Peter, despite everything."

"How frustrating for you," Peter quips, because he has no idea how he feels about that statement or how he is meant to react, and snide comments are always safe.

"Just a little," Aro says, and he sounds almost _fond_ , and god that's fucking weird, isn't it.

Peter makes a face, and gets up, going over to the bar and pouring himself a drink. What the fuck is he meant to do with this information? He downs most of his drink and refills it before returning to the chair. Wonders briefly at why Lucian hasn't reappeared yet, and whether he's just listening from another room, waiting to see how the conversation plays out. Unfair and understandable all at once.

"You know, was easier in the start, when you were even more of an asshole," he tells Aro, who looks more amused than insulted, "would be easier still if you were more like the vampires we killed today?"

"What, dead, you mean?"

Peter snorts.

"Or that, yeah. But I mean more monstrous. You're _weird_ , yeah, but not creepily disgustingly so."

Aro looks almost smug, and Peter groans.

"I just mean, they were proper vampires, yeah, their faces going all creepy and shit when attacking. All innumerable fangs and faces splitting open and weird eyes and yeah, I know, you've got the weird eyes but you just sort of look like someone who bought some goth contacts off the internet. It's not... it makes it harder, to see you as a monster."

Aro blinks.

"Yes, that's rather the point. To attract prey, not to scare you off."

"I'm prey, am I?"

And Aro's smile turns suddenly terribly predatory.

"Of a sort, yes."

"Ominous," Peter tells him, and downs his drink.

"You know Lucian worries about your drinking?" Aro asks, as if caring about the ways in which Peter is destroying the body he worked so hard to make right, make _his_.

"I'm sure he does," Peter replies, "but he hasn't got to deal with the crushing certainty of death, so he doesn't really get a say."

Aro hums, considering.

"He could fix that for you. _I_ could fix that for you."

"Course. But I'm not interested in being made less than human. Or more, in Lucian's case."

"You would choose death?"

Peter laughs.

"Many times as I've considered offing myself I don't think I'm cut out for immortality."

He gets up, makes himself another drink. His head is feeling pleasant hazy, almost enough so that he can get the images of the night out of his mind. Can forget the gun pointed in his face, put the hunter calling him a joke far back outside his consciousness. Footsteps sound from behind him, and then warm arms wrap around him, soft lips and scratchy beard pressed against the back of his neck. Still wet hair press cold lines against his back, through his t-shirt.

"You all right?" Lucian murmurs into his skin, just below his ear.

Peter brings a hand down to over where Lucian's clasp over his stomach. 

"Course," he tells him, though he expects he heard most of the conversation. 

The scent of his expensive shampoo mingles with the smell of wet dog Lucian's hair gives off when damp. The strange combination which had unsettled him at first now feels like home. He sets down his glass, turns in Lucian's arms so his bare chest is pressed against Peter's, his hands locked at the small of his back. He pushes Lucian's long and perpetually tangled hair (does he even try? Does he own a hairbrush? Science has yet to find out) out of the way and leans in to kiss him. His skin is the faintest hint of damp still, warm and cool all at once. Lucian's mouth tastes like toothpaste, all hint of blood and undead flesh thankfully gone.

"Love you," Peter murmurs when they break apart.

Lucian leans his forehead against Peter's, breathes an affirmation of devotion in reply. Peter is aware of Aro meters away. Pining, perhaps, for his wolf. Well. Peter's wolf now.

"Are you playing nice?"

Peter doesn't answer at once, but Aro doesn't either, though he has doubtlessly heard the question.

"Trying to," he says, which is about as honest an answer as he can give.

Lucian kisses him, brief and chaste and all closed lips and hints of bristly beard. Peter leans into him, reveling in the feeling of him, close and safe and his. Thinks about what the hunter had said to him. On the side of the monsters. Well. Perhaps he is. Perhaps monster is something you call what you fear, what you don't understand. And maybe Aro truly is on the same side as him, at least for the time being. He had killed the hunter, true, but in his defense she had been about to shoot Peter. He has never been shot before, but Peter imagines he wouldn't like it much. Prefers the kind of shots that are tiny glasses of alcohol. Hmm. Shots. He wriggles out of Lucian's grip to finish making his drink.

"You want?" Peter asks, holding it out to Lucian.

He makes a face at the taste.

"That bad?"

Lucian, of course, is too polite to say so, so he politely shrugs.

"I'll leave the rest for you," he tells him diplomatically, and Peter snorts.

"No taste," Peter says, gently mocking.

Later, when they are laying in bed, the first rays of dawn trying and failing to peek through the curtains, Peter curls up around Lucian, his face pressed into the crook of Lucian's neck, his hair falling partly over Peter's face. The near dark is warm, none of the pre dawn chill there should be, even this late into autumn.

"Are you okay?" Lucian asks again.

"Mm. Fine. Comfy. Arm asleep but that's why we're here."

He can feel Lucian's smile. 

"I meant about earlier. With the vampires. With the- with the hunter."

Peter groans, but pulls himself away so he can look at Lucian's face, see the gentle worry there. He smoothes a hand across his cheek, to reassure and comfort.

"I'm... yeah. It was weird. Feels wrong to have helped murder another hunter. Even if she wasn't particularly nice."

"Peter, she tried to kill you."

Lucian's eyes are wide, and he turns onto his side, hovering almost over Peter, between him and the door, as if attempting to shield him with his body.

"Yeah, she did. But before I met you that might have been me, right? I wouldn't have understood why a human would work with a vampire and a lycan."

"But you wouldn't have killed the human, even so," Lucian points out, brushing Peter's hair from his eyes.

"No," agrees Peter, "probably not. Definitely not. But what she said, it... it's true, isn't it. I'm a joke. A fake hunter working with the creatures I'm supposed to hunt, needing bigger and scarier monsters to do the vampire killing for me."

Lucian leans in to kiss his forehead.

"Not," Peter adds quickly, "that I'm calling you a monster."

He leaves it up to Lucian to decide whether it's a plural or singular you. In all honesty he isn't entirely sure what he thinks about that these days. 

"I know, Peter. I know. And I do understand how you feel, that it might feel, I don't know, as if you are betraying your kind. I felt the same, for a time. As if I undid all my hard work of fighting against the vampires by falling into bed with Aro. I know certain members of my pack felt that way, as well, though I do not believe they were brave enough to tell me.”

“But that’s- That’s different, though.”

“How so?”

Lucian’s face is calm and curious, now, satisfied Peter is past the most active self deprecation. It feels both safe and comforting and slightly annoying to be read so easily. He is very grateful Lucian doesn’t share Aro’s mind reading abilities. 

“Because-” but Peter falters, tired and stressed and unable to properly articulate why he feels how he does.

“Suppose it is similar,” he relents, “though I’m not fighting against oppressors.”

“No,” agrees Lucian, “you are fighting against the likes of those who murdered your parents, your girlfriend. And though certainly not all vampires are like that, many are. And I do not blame you for it.”

“I know. It’s just. I don’t know. The more time I spend getting to know Aro, the more he feels like a person, which- hold on, all right, I know that sounds bad, but you have to understand, for so long they weren’t people to me, not really. Only the scary monsters out to murder innocent people. And I know your vampires were different, were like people, didn’t even eat humans most of the time, but… The people Jerry bit, they changed. They didn’t want to only feed on animal blood. They _wanted_ to kill and eat people. And they did. They still had their human memories and stuff, still some of their personality, but they were, fundamentally, different. And they were, well. They were somewhat under Jerry’s control, I think, but still. We were, I suppose, though my turning never got far enough for that. Just enough to sort of start gently roasting in the sunlight. Not even a single fang.”

Peter rolls over onto his back, tugging the thing sheet up a little, and Lucian follows him, kissing one of Peter’s scars before resting his head on his chest. He tends to do that, and Peter finds it quite sweet. They aren’t ones he has ever been self conscious about, clearly, given his penchant for walking around shirtless, but he does have almost three decades of not being able to go around with his shirt off to make up for, and he intends to do so. But it is sweet, still, of Lucian to always underline that it’s a part of him he loves. 

“Life is complicated,” he agrees, “but yes. It becomes harder to kill them once you see them as people. And some are so more than others. There are many different strains. More, probably, than we know about, all affecting the infected in different ways. But whatever you think of what Aro has done, he is most definitely a person, as complicated as any other.”

“I know,” Peter replies, I know.”

He stares up at the ceiling, one hand petting through Lucian’s hair. It’s almost entirely dry now, and surprisingly soft. Much more so than his fur ever is. Peter wonders, briefly, whether he has ever showered in lycan form, experimented with some nice quality conditioner. Probably not. He suspects normal showers are too small for a fully transformed lycan. Also he’d need an entire bottle every time. It would get pretty expensive.

“I would understand, you know. If you wanted to… _Reconnect_ with Aro. I would-” he pauses, grits his teeth, making a herculean effort to be a nice and selfless person, “I would be okay with it.”

“By reconnect do you mean-”

“Yes, Lucian, fucking. God. Trying to be tactful here.”

He keeps his eyes firmly on the ceiling, tracing a small crack in the paint, his hand in Lucian’s hair perhaps just a little forceful, to discourage him from making eye contact. Lucian doesn’t answer immediately, and Peter briefly worries whether he is listening to Aro’s comments on this in the other end of the penthouse, unheard by Peter. He hopes not. Of course, he knows that Aro can hear him, and that is part of it, his wanting Aro to know, to hear this small capitulation, this olive branch, but he doesn’t want to think about how the vampire might be reacting to it.

“You don’t want me to.”

“No, I don’t,” admits Peter, “but I do want you to be happy. And I know you’re poly, clearly, but-”

“I’m what?” asks Lucian.

“Polyamorous?” Peter clarifies.

“Many loving?” 

“It’s an orientation? Or, well, not quite. Means loving several people at once? Have you not heard of that?”

Peter looks down at him, now, genuinely puzzled.

“I… have not, no.”

“Huh. Right. Maybe not something people talked about in the dark ages. But you love me, right? And you also love Aro. And both of us in both a romantic and a sexual way?”

Lucian nods, and pushes himself up to rest on his elbows, looking down at Peter curiously.

“And neither diminishes the other, right? Like you said, people can contain multitudes of love.”

“Yes,” Lucian agrees, “I just never realised there was a word for it.”

Peter pauses, squints up at him.

“You do realise you’re bisexual, right? Or pan or whatever?”

“I do,” Lucian confirms, “that much I’ve gathered. I’ve just never… I’ve known these things, but the words for them are new.”

“Yeah, imagine they are, for you. Well, were for me too. Took me a while to learn about this stuff. Was more difficult before the internet was properly a thing.”

“I know,” Lucian says, and leans down to kiss him again, brief and soft, and there is an understanding, there, of the things that lie behind that sentence. 

“But,” Peter clarifies, before his mind can wander down through the murkier depths of the memories he doesn’t quite want to think about, “as I said. I know, we both know, now, that you’re poly, and even though I don’t particularly want you to bone Aro, it feels… I don’t know. Selfish of me to deny you that.”

“It isn’t,” Lucian says, “I am committed to you, even if I also feel the same about Aro. I don’t want to do anything that hurts you, even if I have your blessing.”

Peter groans.

“I am _trying_ to be a nice person here, Lucian. You make me want to be a better person, and it’s infuriating and frustrating, and please let me.”

“You are,” Lucian promises him, leaning down to kiss him again, “and I appreciate it, but you wouldn’t like it if I did.”

Peter isn’t about to disagree with that, nor is he lying to himself by pretending this wasn’t the outcome he had hoped for, with them both getting to prove they are good people but without Lucian taking Aro to bed. Still, there is a little guilt somewhere in him, lurking in the depths.

“If, however, you and Aro were to start feeling… similarly towards each other as you do me…” Lucian trails off, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Gross,” Peter says, grimacing even as he vividly remembers the dream he had about the three of them, how painfully hot that was.

Lucian smiles indulgently, and Peter wonders, very briefly, whether Aro has told him. God he fucking hopes not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *on chapter 38 with Peter and Aro barely admitting they don't hate each other and still worrying that I'm having them move too fast*


	39. 2014: Dracula (1931) & Other Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter tries to work out how he feels

Peter lays on the sofa, his legs slung over the back, the remote resting on his chest. On the flat screen the 1931 Dracula film is playing, volume muted, and on the table next to him is an abandoned bowl of cereal and an empty coffee cup. His phone has fallen asleep half tucked under his hip, and so, almost, has he, behind the dark glass of his shades. He had gone out the previous night, with some of the people working his show, to a bar. Lucian had not been invited. He’d needed some time alone, he had said, to just pretend to be a normal person with a normal life for a bit. And he feels awful for it. Not for needing normalcy, but physically awful, as apparently his drinking has calmed down a bit in the last few months, and he rather overestimated the amount of shots and cocktails that can comfortably fit within his body without fucking him up too bad. 

It had been freeing, being out without having to think about anyone revealing their inhuman eyes, or accidentally growling and someone with their fangs bared. Or, well. He thinks it was freeing. Most of the evening was a blur, if he is being completely honest with himself. There are flashes of him and the girls in his show doing some very colourful shots, of being sick in a blue lit club bathroom, of washing the taste of vomit from his mouth with a vodka redbull. Dimly he also remembers stumbling into the lift at about eight in the morning, and falling asleep on the floor. He knows he fell asleep on the floor because he also remembers being lifted up, given a bottle of water and deposited gently on his bed.

It is a little before sunset now, and he couldn’t sleep on his bed, so he had migrated to the room next door, where there are no sheets that smell faintly of vodka, because it was making him regret his life choices. 

“I never drink… wine,” Bela Lugosi tells Dwight Frye, and Peter groans.

“God, me either from now on,” he mutters.

“I’m sure Lucian will be delighted to hear it,” says Aro, who has suddenly and without giving off any noise appeared across the room. 

Or maybe Peter had drifted off, after all, just for a moment. Though the bloodsucker is sneaky.

“Sneaking up on people like that’s gonna get you staked,” Peter tells him.

Aro raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah, invulnerable to most weapons, sure, but I bet if someone shoves a wooden stake up your arse it’s gonna be pretty fucking unpleasant however much it can’t kill you.”

“So charming, no wonder Lucian adores you.”

Peter sticks his tongue out at him, and Aro settles down in the chair across the room with a book. It seems to be one of Peter’s, one on international vampire folklore. He is wearing the suit from when they went hunting, and Peter can just about see the little stitches where he has gotten it mended. Good to see he’s not wasting money on new ones, Peter supposes. Though it does put him in mind of pale flesh, and earlier, of Aro pulling off Peter’s hoodie. He had been, and, presumably, remains, softer than Lucian. It is evident he was turned while he was entering middle age, and everything about him is less sharp, less defined, even as he seems hewn from stone. But perhaps stone that has been worn smoother, edges less sharp after millennia. 

“Did you ever meet him?” Peter asks.

Aro looks at him, confused. Peter nods at the screen, where Dracula is charming Mina, even as he secretly drains her blood in the night. 

“Who, Bela Lugosi? Or the historical man they called Dracula?”

Peter shrugs, which causes the remote to slide from his chest down onto the floor. He does not bother trying to catch it.

“Both? Either?”

“Only the second one. Vlad the third. Not a very pleasant man. Fond of stakes. Oddly enough not particularly fond of either vampires or lycans. It was a meeting at his fortress in the Carpathian mountains, a rare cross species meeting. Though I did see that gentleman on the screen. I took Lucian to see The Wolf Man, when it opened. He’s in that, though not as Dracula.”

Peter laughs.

“He enjoyed that, did he?”

Aro smiles.

“I think he found it insulting both as a Romanian and as a lycan.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. Not a very flattering version, I suppose.”

“No. He took me to see this one,” Aro nods at the screen, “in retaliation. And though wrong in every single way, it is still more flattering than Lon Chaney jr. with fur glued to his face.”

Peter grins.

“Yeah, I imagine so. Wonder he didn’t make you see Nosferatu instead. Bit less pretty.”

“It is,” agrees Aro, “but much like many humans, Lucian seems to find vampires quite sexy.”

“You do seem to be his type,” Peter agrees, only somewhat bitterly, and glares through his shades at his coffee cup, willing it to fill itself. 

His efforts are not rewarded. He debates getting up. Doesn’t.

“Have you watched a lot of vampire films, then?” Peter asks, because it does seem to be a strange thing to do, although in fairness Peter watches quite a lot of films about humans, so perhaps it isn’t.

“Some. It is useful to know what humans might think of you. Lucian has too, ones about werewolves.”

“Oh,” Peter replies, and that’s more sad, somehow.

Vampires at least seem to have a good time, but werewolves are always tragic. Turned monstrous against their will, killing their loved ones, eventually shot with a silver bullet for their own good. They aren’t, in film, quite as cool and sexy as vampires get to be.

“Which one is best? Or, I guess, least insulting or whatever?”

Aro considers.

“Blade.”

Peter laughs.

“Really?”

“He can walk in the sun,” Aro points out.

“Yeah but- That’s- That’s not- Okay. Not because he’s a vampire though.”

“No,” agrees Aro.

“But… But Blade? Not Only Lovers Left Alive, or Byzantium or What We Do In The Shadows or any of the ones that are sympathetic to vampires. Blade.”

“Blade,” Aro confirms with a completely straight face.

Peter wonders whether he is fucking with him, because he also really liked Blade, though he remained conflicted about the half vampire thing. The look, though, that was very cool. Insofar as anything in 1998 even viewed through nostalgic lenses can be considered cool. 

“Do you know what Lucian’s favourite werewolf film is?”

“Ginger Snaps,” Aro says, and the fact that he doesn’t have to think about it has to mean this is a conversation they have had.

Interesting. Also, good choice. Aro, sensing the conversation seems to be over, at least unless he intends to ask Peter what his favourite film about humans is, turns back to his book. Peter watches him, thinking. About what Lucian said, what he suggested. And it’s not like it hasn’t occurred to him before, obviously, that dream is proof of that, but the idea of it is _weird_. However much Aro and he are slowly warming up to each other, however much closer Peter comes each day to forgetting that a blood drinking monster lives in his house (though to be fair he has seen Lucian drinking the blood Aro keeps once or twice, so perhaps there are two blood drinking creatures of the night living here), it feels unnatural. It feels like it would be unfair, somehow, to Lucian, despite the fact that he is the one who wants it. 

The vampire’s hair looks soft, more so than Lucian’s, and he is undeniably visually fascinating. Inhumanly pale and perfect skin, eyes that are back to a safe golden now, just the faintest red hint around the edge of the iris. The fangs that catch the light when he smiles that predatory little smile of his. And, of course, what the sun does to him, turning him into a sort of crystalline sculpture. He would kill at Pride. Although probably also literally, so it is doubtful that’s a good idea.

Peter lets himself imagine, briefly, what it would be like. The three of them, together. Some sort of happy love triangle. Well. Lucian’s corner of it would be happy, anyway. And he wants that, Peter knows he does, and he wonders if he can do that for him. Clearly Aro is still an asshole, but so is Peter, a little bit, he’s man enough to admit that. Also, he has been informed of the fact by several credible sources. That, Peter can get over. But the vampire thing? The thousands of years of killing and eating humans thing? Can he, even for Lucian, pretend that it doesn’t sicken and horrify him, even though they are mostly civil these days? Even though this was kind of … kind of nice? He doesn’t know. For all that he is on the side of the monsters now, at least these two specific ones, he isn’t sure that’s something he can do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter's favourite movie about humans, for the record, is Alien, which he was way to young to see when he did, and which does have a majority of human characters, and so counts.


	40. 2014: Pack Animals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter keeps having thoughts about Aro and Lucian, Aro and Peter have a surprisingly civil talk about Lucian, and Lucian just loves both of them a whole lot because he is a soft and perfect puppy.

Peter sits in the corner of the room, huddled over a large and strong coffee, watching. Lucian and Aro are just within his sightline, just one room over, talking in low voices, in what Peter is pretty sure is Romanian. Most of their rules have slipped by now, in some way or other. The language one went first, mostly because Peter realised it was a massive dick move (he stands by it, to himself, and has been repeatedly mailing duolingo to make them add Romanian to their app, though that will take another year and a half. He has been asking Lucian to teach him too, but it has been challenging. So far he can say lup (wolf), vampir (vampire, not a terrible stretch) and te iubesc (I love you). He has not been able to make Lucian tell him how to say I am going to kill you, vampire scum. Something about keeping peace in the flat.), but the others have slid too.

The coffee is hot and bitter and not great, but he inhales it anyway, watching the two of them. They are being perfectly respectable, sitting with at least a foot or two between them, but his mind keep drifting anyway. Imagining them leaning closer for a kiss, Lucian moving to stradle Aro, hands messing up that stupid perfect hair. He imagines their sweet wolf grinding down against Aro, and despite ostensibly doing this as a way to hate himself, the idea is making him, well. Not angry, exactly, but something baser. Fuck. Stupid brain. Stupid body.

It's been on his mind for so long, now, ever since that conversation with Lucian. He hates it, and doesn't hate it at the same time, a fact which he, naturally, hates. And he hates that they can probably tell, both of them. Hates, a little bit, that of the three he will always be the weakest. The only human, yes, it's what he wants, but also, therefore, the one who will always need help, need saving. That he will be worse than them at nearly everything, except possibly technology and show business and drinking. And, evidently, queer terminology. 

"Are you ready?"

Lucian's question rouses him from his frustrated and still vaguely horny thoughts. 

"Uh," he says.

Lucian leans in to kiss him, soft and sweet and brief.

"It's a full moon tonight, you were going to come with? Out into the wilderness."

"Mm. Right. You're gonna go be cute and fluffy in nature?"

"I am not sure people tend to describe lycans in their wolf forms that way, but yes."

"Well, you are. Big and fluffy and it's _you_ , so, cute. Pettable. Almost soft."

"If you say so, my love."

Peter gets up, leans in to press a kiss to Lucian's temple, and goes to get his stuff. Stake. Just in case. Leather coat. Also just in case. A few beers. Not a whole case. Phone charger. Sword. There's bound to be a bit of waiting. Keys. Car keys. Cool.

"What's he doing here?" Peter asks when he sees Aro standing by Lucian, low murmured Romanian again.

He's wearing a cape now, because of fucking course he is. Not that, given his show costumes, Peter has much of a fashion high ground, but still. He is equally full of disdain and envy.

"Coming along?" Aro suggests.

"Why?"

"Peter, I don't want to leave you alone out there, we don't who have been keeping eyes on us."

"So he's babysitting?"

"If that is how you would like to think of it, yes," Aro quips.

"I can take care of myself, Lucian."

Anger and resentment curl through him, settling like a heavy stone deep inside.

"I know, Peter, I know. But I worry about you, and with everything that is going on I'm not comfortable leaving you alone."

The worry and care and gentleness in his voice is a physical thing, and as much as Peter wants to resist it, it makes his heart clench.

"Fine," he mutters, resigning himself to something much more uncomfortable than just a chill few hours alone in nature.

-

Aro watches the two of them from the back seat. Peter looks firmly straight ahead as he drives, probably wise, and Lucian either lovingly at Peter, or out through the glass at the full moon. Yearning. Or feeling the fur trying to break through his skin. He can fight it, of course, if he wants to, but Aro supports his desire to indulge in his more animalistic side. It's probably good. He rather envies the ability to no longer be completely himself. Aro has been himself, and crushingly aware of it, for more than 3300 years now, and that is too long.

They come to a halt about an hour outside the city, and Lucian is itching to grow fur. Probably literally. His nails have gone long and claw like, and his eyes pale and blue.

"You ready?" Peter asks him as they all exit the vehicle.

Lucian nods, leaning in to kiss him, deep and intense. Aro longs for him to be the one Lucian kisses, to be the one to share his bed. Or one among them. Either, he thinks, would do. He does miss it so. Misses being close to someone, physically. He has, after all, been married for thousands of years, and whatever he and Sulpicia were, they were close. He was, rather. For months, now, he has wished he never travelled to Washington, although he supposes then he never would have met Lucian again, would never have thought to look for him. His life, truly, has been deeply changed.

Lucian comes over to him, too, resting a palm against the side of Aro's cheek, all too briefly, as they look at each other. That's enough, these days, Aro doesn't need to read his mind to work out what he's feeling. Aro lets himself lean into it, just a little, just briefly.

"Be safe, my wolf," he murmurs.

Lucian strips out of his clothes, and then lets the moon take hold of him. The change still upsets Peter a little to watch, that much is evident, but he does so anyway. It is admirable in a way. The absolute least a lover could do to make sure the recipient of their love feels accepted and adored in another. For himself, Aro has always found it fascinating to watch. The way Lucian is human with hint of wolf for a while, until the pale skin is swallowed entirely up by fur, face disappearing into snout. In the end he falls to all fours, padding over to Peter to nudge his head into his hands like a cat demanding to be pet. Aro knows from seeing inside Lucian's head, something of what it feels like. How it is not another being from Lucian, but not quite the same man, either. A mixture of memories and peraonality and thought on one side, pure instinct and sensory input on the other.

"Go kill some small animals or howl at the moon or something, babe, I'll see you later," Peter tells Lucian, kissing his forehead.

And with one last glance in Aro's direction, acknowledgement, Lucian bounds off into the dark. They stand in silence for a while, watching him disappear into the distance, until Aro hears him speeding up, a growl signalling the beginning of a hunt. 

"Do you think it's fun?" Peter asks, leaning back against the car.

"Hunting?"

Peter shrugs, crossing his arms.

"All of it. Wolfy stuff. Moon time."

"Wolfy stuff?" Aro asks with an arched eyebrow.

Peter makes one of his weird noises. Aro thinks this one maybe signals annoyance. Many of them do. At least the ones he makes in Aro's direction. 

"Y'know," he says, gesturing broadly at the expance of rocky plains before them.

Aro decides to not antagonize him further, for once. They are going to have to stay out here, after all. 

"I suppose I do. And yes, in a sense. Wolves don't have exactly the same sense of fun as humans, but it is... satisfying. It feels right for him, like being a more pure and less complicated version of himself. Also he enjoys it when you pet him."

Peter smiles despite his best efforts.

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

Peter looks over at him, eyes wide, something very intense in his expression. 

"You know from seeing his memories, his thoughts, yeah?"

"Yes," Aro confirms, "is there anything you want to know about it?"

Peter looks down, biting his lip, shoving his hands into his pockets. Aro watches a tiny lizard scuttle across a rock and into some sort of dried shrub. Dust whirls in little spirals in the night air, beneath a black and endless void, speckled with stars this far from the light pollution of the city.

"Does it hurt him? When he changes, I mean, does it hurt? I know he says it doesn't, but I'm worried he's just saying it to make me, I don't know. Less.. scared for him."

Aro smiles as kindly as he can, and his dead and unmoving heart would beat harder if it could. 

"No, it doesn't," he reassures him, thankfully honestly, "it feels... odd to him. Both from human to wolf and wolf to human feels like becoming his true self. And it is... a relief, I think, on the full moons. Like letting go. Freeing."

Aro can see some of the tension seep out of the human, and his posture softens some.

"Right. Good. Yeah."

"Do you think he would lie to you about something like that?"

Peter squirms. 

"Not lie, but... maybe ... maybe not tell me things that make me worry. He gets protective."

"He does," Aro agrees, "it is, I think, who he is. The last six centuries he has spent protecting his pack. And that's you now."

"What?"

"His pack? A tiny pack, yes, but still a pack. So he wants to protect you. Not to make him sound like an animal not in control of his behaviour, of course, but it is, perhaps, a pattern."

"Huh," Peter says, looking up at the moon.

"Aren't you?" He adds, still not looking at Aro.

"Am I not what?"

"Also part of his pack?"

Aro takes a deep and unnecessary breath. He has genuinely not considered that as a possibility, hasn't allowed himself to.

"I- perhaps," he manages, not quite as in control as he prefers to be.

"You've been fuck buddies for centuries, I think you count," Peter says, and he's putting as much crassness and resentment into it as possible, but the sentiment is heartening, is as close Peter has ever come to saying he understands what the history between Aro and Lucian means.

"Perhaps," Aro says again, softly, mostly to himself.

-

When Lucian returns, he finds Peter asleep, leaning on Aro's shoulder, his cape wrapped around him like a blanket. It's still dark, perhaps around four or five in the morning, and the moon is still up. They are sitting against a rock formation, shielding them from the wind, and Lucian can see a could of empty beer cans being blown across the dirt slowly. Aro looks up at him.

"Hello, my love."

Lucian drops to four legs, walking closer, looking meaningfully from the sleeping Peter to the vampire.

"Yes, he did tire himself out at one point. But we were being civil, I promise."

He is keeping his voice low and soft, so as not to wake Peter, and Lucian leans in to press the side of his muzzle into Aro's cheek, an approximation of a hug. He receives a night air cold kiss to his furred cheekbone for it.

"Join us?" Aro suggests, and Lucian lays down, curling himself around the two of them. 

Their smells intermingle, and something about that fact makes the wolf in him very happy. Everyone herded into the same spot, safe and close and together. Easily protected, kept in sight. His wolf brain is not good at accounting for the powers of vampires, but the sentiment is there.

"Were your hunts successful?" Aro asks, and Lucian nods.

"I am glad to hear it. Nothing of note has happened here. Well, no threats, at any rate, though we did have an... interesting discussion."

Lucian makes a worried noise and Aro smiles.

"Not of that kind, my dear. But he did suggest something, which- all right. Peter is a part of your pack now, am I correct in assuming that?"

Lucian nods emphatically. Aro hesitates. Lucian curls even closer, hoping to reassure and comfort. 

"Am I?"

The notes of worry in his voice make Lucian's heart hurt. How can he doubt that? He nods again, with equal fervour. Curls a stiff clawed hand around Aro's cool one. He tries to communicate as much as this form allows that Aro is an integral part of the troika his pack has now been reduced to, and that as long as they have known each other he always has been, even if a significantly less present one. He tries to communicate in wolfish just how much he loves him, how important he is to Lucian. Aro has explained to him that the telepathy doesn't work like that, that he won't hear it if Lucian just thinks something loudly enough, but that doesn't keep him from trying.

"Thank you," Aro whispers, voice soft as if not quite daring to let himself be heard.

He pets through the fur on Lucian's head, his skin strikingly cold in the night air. It feels good, anyway. It always does. When the sun rises again he will ask exactly what happened, how they ended up so close, and why Peter is using Aro as a pillow, but for now he will stay curled around his small pack, warm and protective and really quite sleepy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neat, this is my longest written thing ever now. Both, I think, in chapters and words.


	41. 2015: Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter learns a terrible truth about himself

The autumn cools slowly, gradually transitioning into what passes for winter in Nevada. All three of them, being Europeans, complain about the lack of Proper Seasons, and, being from three separate parts of Europe, quibble predictably about exactly what constitutes a Proper Season anyway. All of them, of course, are wrong, though Lucian arguably least so, being from somewhere where they at least get proper winters in the mountains. 

Christmas is mostly overlooked, as none of them really celebrate it. Aro, of course, is nearly a millenium and a half older than Christendom itself, and makes a half hearted case for Saturnalia, having turned his wife during the height of the Roman empire and having been somewhat affected by her traditions. Lucian was raised as a slave by the vampires, who generally lost what religious beliefs they might have had shortly after being turned, and so though he is familiar with the concept, celebrates nothing but the day of lycan independence from the vampires. But, given that it is also the anniversary of his beloved Sonja’s death, it is rather somber, as celebrations go. Peter used to love christmas, but hasn’t celebrated it since his parents died. It always felt wrong without them, and so his annual tradition is to get drunk and distract himself from the memory. This goes better than most years, as he falls asleep in Lucian’s arms, which he quite enjoys.

For new years, they disagree about time. Lucian, stubbornly, stands by the Julian calendar, entirely, it seems, out of spite. Peter insists on the more modern Gregorian calendar, and Aro complains that July and August are made up and so none of this matters anyway. Still, Peter manages to gain access to the roof of the building, which is not supposed to be accessed, bringing a couple of bottles of champagne which he and Lucian share as they watch the fireworks. He tries, already, admittedly, somewhat drunk, to put some blood through his soda stream machine for Aro (“To make it _festive_ , you joyless bloodsucker”), which only succeeds in destroying both the machine and making the blood undrinkable. Still, it is a nice enough night, even without the carbonated blood.

Despite their disagreements about time, the animosity between Aro and Peter continues to lessen. One might even say they begin to become more friendly, even if Peter would hesitate to agree out loud. It is not so hard, though, when he is alone with Lucian, listening to him talk about their centuries long past. Then Peter can admit to even liking the ancient vampire. Not out loud, never out loud. But he knows Lucian can tell. Knows he can see the softening of his expression, can hear it in his pulse or however the fuck lycans read emotions so well. Smell emotion chemicals? Neither science nor Peter knows.

It is sometime towards the end of January that Peter comes to a mortifying realisation. He has been wearing his sunglasses inside more, despite the “winter” dark, which he has admitted to himself is because he doesn’t want Lucian or Aro noticing him looking. Because he keeps doing so, reluctantly. Keeps looking between their faces. At first he thinks it is because he is starting to see similarities again, after having gotten used to their being such different people that they almost stopped looking alike for a long time. But that’s not it, he realises. Because he catches his eyes lingering, watching Aro as he reads, or as he uses the internet with slightly more competency than Lucian (something Peter intends to get to the bottom of at a later point, though at the very least Aro has the decency not to try to use emojis, unlike Lucian. He signs every text with a wolf emoji now, and it is equally endearing and embarrassing). Peter watches the contours of his face, the sparkling of his skin in the sunlight when any of them are up early enough for it still to be up. He sees glints of fangs in smiles, sees that even as his skin glitters he can appreciate when the sunlight turns his less sparkly eyes to pools of molten gold. He catches himself wondering if his hair is as soft as it looks. In short, he is forced to realise that he is, in fact, genuinely into Aro.

The realisation hits him during a short break in the middle of a show, with the approximate gentleness of being hit by a car (which Lucian has informed him is quite a bad time). He stands, mouth open, eyes staring blankly at the wall past his cue, and has to be forcibly pulled back into the moment by one of his co-stars. Luckily, perhaps, there is no time to think more about it until after the audience has applauded, and he gets a half empty beer glass tossed at him. It misses.

Peter lies down on the floor of his dressing room, cradling an unopened can of beer to his chest. What, he thinks, could he possibly have done to deserve such a fate as this? Too much sleeping around? No, he thinks, karma is a concept, and as such cannot slut shame. Too much alcohol and drugs? Has he irrevocably fucked up his brain chemistry to the point where he thinks murder is sexy? And fuck, Aro was human, once, doesn’t that technically make him a cannibal? Gross. He is a gross and terrible man, whose eyes are like the sun and whose lips do look terribly soft and-

“Fuck,” he says, glaring at the ceiling as if it is to blame.

Maybe it’s a disease. A horny-for-vampires disease, and he has been infected by Lucian. Yeah. Yup. That must be it. Perhaps there is a cure? Perhaps if he goes somewhere and watches Aro kill a human he will force himself into the realisation that this is an evil monster, who only appears largely human. But he cannot exactly sacrifice someone’s life to make himself not have a crush. That’s not, he thinks, how it works. Unless maybe if it’s a paedophile or serial killer or something. Decide who gets to live or die, that’s not what he’s about. Pretty fucking poor judge of character, anyway, so he probably would make mistakes.

He opens the beer and attempts to drink it while laying down. This is not, it turns out, a good idea. Forced to move, he gets a t-shirt from his closet and wipes the beer off, tossing it onto the floor. Strips out of his costume and hangs that up (it is, after all, significantly more expensive than the t-shirt, he’s not a total monster), and gets his phone out to text Lucian.

 **Peter:** I need u 2 come down 2 my dressing room immediately 

**Peter:** emergency!!!!

 **Lucian:** I will be there momentarily

Peter hopes he is writing such wordy texts in the lift heading down, because otherwise he’s not impressed with his favourite lycan’s priorities in a crisis. He lies back on the floor, just for dramatic effect, though it has less of a dramatic effect now he’s dressed in sweats and without his wig. He pulls the facial hair off, too, as he lays there, tossing it at the sofa and missing. He has to wait for nearly three minutes before there’s a knock on the door and Lucian’s very anxious voice asking if everything is all right.

“Come in,” Peter intones, voice low and gloomy as he can make it.

Lucian’s face, when it appears, seems confused and not entirely impressed, which isn’t ideal. Peter would, if possible, like to impress his sweet lovely wolf at any opportunity and- sweet wolf? That’s Aro’s fucking endearment. Jesus fucking fuck. This is going to far.

“Peter?”

Lucian’s face comes into view, upside down from Peter’s vantage point. Then it comes closer, as Lucian crouches down somewhere behind Peter’s head. A soft touch to his cheek.

“Is the emergency that they didn’t clap enough after your show again?” he asks, mostly kindly, a little bit mocking.

“No,” Peter says, “it’s even worse.”

“Heckling? Rotten fruit?”

“Worse even than that,” Peter sighs.

Lucian lies down next to him. Solidarity. Good. He really doesn’t understand how he has gotten this lucky with his love life. Perhaps this shit with Aro is the price he must pay for Lucian’s love. In that case, he supposes, he will have to suffer through.

“I’ve had some terrible news,” he tells Lucian.

“Are you all right?” Lucian asks, wriggling a little and settling a little closer, so their sides press against each other.

“No. As I said. Emergency.”

“You did say,” Lucian agrees, with a little sigh.

It is not… disappointment, not exactly. He sounds resigned, perhaps. Peter is used to inspiring both, but it stings a little from Lucian.

“What is it then?” 

Peter sighs. He should have realised that making Lucian come down here would mean that he would have to tell him, and not just lie on the floor a miserable pile of man. He lets his head roll to the side, where they meet Lucian’s. They’re terribly gentle eyes. Pretty. Surrounded, always, by dark circles that do not seem to go away no matter how much he sleeps. Peter can’t quite tell what colour they are, it seems to shift depending on the light. Whatever they are, Peter thinks he could spend years staring into them.

“Peter?” Lucian prods again.

“Yuh, uh. Yep. I have… urgh. Fuck. The thing. The thing is that I…” he pauses, groans, “have feelings.”

“Peter, if your having feelings is news I think you ought to give some thought to finding a different therapist.”

“Shut up, I’m being emotionally vulnerable.”

“Sorry.”

Lucian sits up, tugs at Peter to do the same. He lets him, leaning his head against Lucian’s shoulder.

“I think,” he says, “that I don’t hate Aro quite so much any more.”

“I know,” Lucian tells him, “you haven’t for a while, I think.”

Peter looks at him affronted.

“You’re not supposed to be so observant,” Peter complains.

“I am sorry, my love.”

His smile is careful, gentle, just a little amused.

“I love you so fucking much, Lucian, do you know that?”

“You have told me. But it is nice to hear all the same.”

“But that’s the thing, that’s the goddamn thing, right. The fucking. The thing.”

“The thing.”

Lucian really is a quite remarkably patient man. Well, Peter thinks darkly, he’d need to be to put up with him. He takes one of Peter’s hands in his, brings it to his face and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. 

“Have you realised,” he asks, “that you actually quite like Aro?”

Peter groans, freeing his hand so he can bury his face in both. He feels the scratch of beard against his temple, a brush of lips.

“It’s all right, Peter.”

“Is it that obvious?” he asks, voice still muffled by his hands.

“Only because I know you well,” Lucian promises.

Or lies. 

“I hate it,” Peter admits.

“I know. I understand.”

“Because he’s a monster.”

“Yes, you’ve said.”

“It’s not a- I’m not. I don’t think you-”

“It’s fine, Peter, I understand.”

“Are you- will you-”

Lucian strokes a hand through Peter’s hair.

“I won’t say anything unless you want me to, Peter.”

Peter slides, very slowly, back down to the floor, making a continuous unhappy noise. It is slightly sticky, because he didn’t clean up the beer, and he thinks he maybe got it in his hair. Gross. It’s what he deserves, and also a terrible and unfair fate. It’s not as if he can do anything about it, whether he wants to or not. He can’t exactly ask Aro to join them in their bed, that would be- no. Not going there. Aro would get smug. Well, smug-er. 

“You know, he likes you as well.”

Peter groans, louder, drawn out. Lucian looks kindly down at him, Peter can just feel it, all soft and fond and knowing. As it this isn’t the worst thing that could possibly happen to Peter, the most awful fucking fate.

“Horrible,” he proclaims.


	42. 2015: Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which 42 truly is the answer, including to the question of how many chapters will it take for me to get all three of these people together.

The first time Aro and Peter kiss, it is on the fourth of February, 2015. There is a full moon, and again they have accompanied Lucian out into the desert. It stretches out before them, dark and flat and without any end. There is only the moon out here, and the stars, illuminating them and bathing the arid landscape in a cool glow. Very spooky, very cool, as Peter points out. The right kind of night for being outside with a vampire and a lycan. Aro wouldn’t know. All his nights have been monstrous for millennia. 

Lucian leaves them, after stopping to say goodbye, first as a human, then as a wolf. He is still entirely chaste with Aro, even after, gods, what is it now? Six months? At least. Aro doesn’t understand how it can be, how he has been in this awful little city for so long. He misses Volterra, misses the Tuscan countryside, misses his palace. It is so large one could get lost for days, could spend several nights in a row wandering the marble hallways without having to encounter anyone. Spacious though Peter’s flat is, it cannot compare.

Aro heard their murmured conversation, months ago. Peter giving Lucian his _permission_ (as if Lucian needed such a thing) to take up again his relationship with Aro, told him that he understood, and yet… nothing. Lucian hasn’t even mentioned it to Aro, even though it must be clear also to him that Aro knows. But he is a good person, a nice person, much more so than Peter or Aro. They all know this. He will abstain for Peter’s sake, as long as it remains necessary. To keep the peace, to keep the human happy. 

Peter leans against his car, drinking a beer that is probably unpleasantly warm, looking between the landscape before them and the glowing screen of his telephone. The place they have found, where they have come for two moons in a row, is perhaps a kilometre past the end of a long dirt road. It is a little rough on the car, perhaps, but Peter insists it is made for it. Where they have parked it is far enough from any hint of civilisation that they cannot see any lights, not even in the distance. Aro likes it. It reminds him of a time before every little part of the world was lit up, when there were still places humans did not dare to go.

Aro settles down on an appropriately flat rock, arranging his cape around him just so. It is one of the few pieces of his own proper clothing he still has. The clothes he wore to the fight where he nearly lost his life, where he lost all his people. Lost everything, really, that he had worked for. He has gotten other clothes, of course, since then. Expensive tailored suits and the like, but modern day humans simply do not produce the same kinds of quality pieces as they did before. And capes seem to be entirely out of fashion, which is a shame. In dark moments he has considered asking Peter where he has the costumes for his show made, but he is not quite willing to sink to such depths yet.

“Why do you agree to hunt other vampires?” Peter asks, sitting down next to him.

He keeps a respectable distance, half a metre or so, but he is close enough that Aro can feel the heat radiating from him. 

“Because you and Lucian ask me to,” he says simply.

“C’mon. Gotta be more than that.”

Aro shrugs.

“Perhaps. But the two of you have both been hurt by vampires, and so I understand your vendetta against us, even if not necessarily my kind in particular. And that helps, too, that it’s not my kind we hunt, just my… distant relations. Were you to hunt those closer to me I expect I would have more of an issue with it. But we are, I think, too powerful for that to be a good idea. And there are very few of us in the Americas, which I am sure helps.”

“Huh,” Peter says, emptying his can of beer and crunching it into a knot of aluminium under his boot.

“I keep thinking about it see,” he continues, “and it feels like it would be like me agreeing to helping you kill humans. Like a… like a fucking Renfield, bringing you victims or something.”

Peter seems like he is heading, however nebulously, towards a point, so Aro remains quiet and lets him, head turned slightly to watch the way the full moon outlines his face in pale blue. His hair is getting long, too long to properly make do that standing up thing he seems to like, but remains too short to tie up, so it hangs down in his face, casting spiky shadows down across his cheekbones. A bird calls in the distance, up as late as the three of them.

“But I suppose it’s nice of you. Helping punish the vampires who kill humans.”

“That is not why I do it, you know that.”

“Does it matter?” Peter asks, turning to look at him properly.

Aro has the impulse to push his hair away from his face. He doesn’t.

“Does it matter why you do it, as long as the result is less people getting eaten?”

“I had thought it would matter to you,” Aro says carefully.

Peter laughs, short and bitter.

“Yeah. Yeah, me fucking too. It did, I suppose, but now I don’t know. If the result is good, then I suppose you are, very slowly, making up for all the humans you’ve killed and eaten.”

“I am not trying to do that.”

“I know.”

Peter sighs, looks away for a moment, then back at Aro again, eyes big and dark.

“Would you let me believe it was?”

Aro frowns.

“You are free to look at it as you wish, of course.”

Peter groans, frustrated, and Aro is genuinely not sure what the human is trying to achieve, but it is clearly something, and it is equally clearly not going very well.

“Are you… are you attempting to justify not killing me?” he asks.

“Something like that,” Peter mutters.

It shouldn’t instil hope in Aro’s long dead and petrified heart, but it does so anyway. He knows, of course, having seen it, that Peter lusts after him. But that, flattering as it is, does not mean that Peter actually _likes_ him, however much Aro has made his peace with the fact that that is something he wants, longs for.

“I do think,” Aro says, “that I am more useful to your anti vampire crusade alive than dead.”

“Undead.”

“Whatever word you prefer for my condition.”

“Yeah, I don’t- don’t disagree. But doesn’t it make you feel like, I don’t know, like a traitor, kind of?”

“I hold no particular loyalty to vampire species as a whole. Not like your deep love for humanity.”

Peter makes a face.

“My what?”

Aro makes an aborted movement towards him, almost putting a hand on his shoulder, but catching himself at the last moment. He sees Peter notice it.

“You must care for humanity, given how important it is to you to protect them.”

Peter looks uncomfortable.

“Not sure that’s it,” he admits, becoming suddenly very interested in the dirt at his feet.

“Not sure it’s that more than it’s revenge.”

“Well, then. As you said. Does it matter? Isn’t the important thing the sum of good that is a result of what you do? Are not the humans who get to live because you rid the world of those that would feed on them result enough?”

“Hey, that’s unfair, turning it around on me like that,” Peter complains, though his heart seems not to be in it. 

Aro smiles at him, kindly as he can, and Peter’s gaze flicks across his face before returning to the ground. There is a hint of warmth in his cheeks, visible only to those with vampirically superior eyesight. 

“You tell Lucian that he makes you want to be a better person, yes? And you are trying. Doing good despite your less than pure intentions. I think, at least on average, that that counts.”

“Yeah?”

Peter sounds hopeful, and Aro thinks that it is both a good thing for their relationship and a terrible thing for Peter’s sense of morals that he is seeking validation for his choices from a vampire who has eaten thousands upon thousands of his kind, who has by his own hand murdered at least a hundred thousand humans.

“Yes,” he confirms, and now he does put his hand on Peter’s shoulder.

Peter’s gaze follows the movement, but he does not shake it off. Aro can feel his warmth, his life through layers of fabric. Can feel his pulse, the blood flowing through him, so close. He knows how easy it would be to pierce his skin with his fangs, and yet he finds he has no desire to do so. Peter’s eyes flick up to meet Aro’s, and then away, but he shuffles a little closer. Aro sees it, decides that perhaps, as the older and more mature one, it is his responsibility to close the distance. So he does, removing his hand but shifting so their sides, their thighs almost touch, so there is just the thinnest wall of cool night air between them.

Aro can hear the beating of Peter’s heart, fast and frantic beneath his unmoving frame. He can see Peter’s hands clenching through the fabric of his hoodie. He wonders whether he is trying to fight an impulse or gather courage to follow through. If this is to go how he hopes, he has to be slow. Ease into it. Give Peter time to get used to the idea. So he follows his earlier impulse, brushing Peter’s hair away from his face, careful so his finger barely ghosts across warm skin. Peter turns his face to him, then, and they are so close. He sees Peter’s gaze go from Aro’s eyes, down to his lips and back up again. He wants to, that much is clear, but he needs to be the one to initiate it, Aro thinks. So it is all his idea, so Aro merely facilitates the choice. Peter’s eyes are questioning, so Aro inclines his head, the hint of a nod, and then Peter is crushing their lips together. 

His mouth is warm, and he tastes of his terrible choices in beer and a hint of gum and Aro doesn’t _care_ , because it’s perfect. Peter’s hands are tangling in his long hair, pulling, holding him close. He pulls away, reluctant, to catch his breath, which puffs warm against Aro’s face. He leans their foreheads together, whether because he needs the closeness or because he doesn’t want to look Aro in the eyes, the vampire doesn’t know. But he doesn’t fight it, lets Peter decide the pace. His hands are still in Aro’s hair, tangling, holding fast.

“’s this okay?” Peter whispers.

“Very,” Aro confirms, and then Peter is kissing him again, a warm tongue slipping into his mouth, gliding over the sharp points of his fangs.

Aro lets him, leaning into the kiss, then using those fangs to tug on Peter’s bottom lip, making the human moan softly, and the flush, embarrassed, as it his enjoyment of this could be a bad thing at this point. Perhaps to him it still is. So he pulls away, using a finger to tip Peter’s head up, to force eye contact.

“Are you sure?” he asks softly.

“Yes,” Peter says, “no. Maybe. I don’t know.”

He is at least, Aro thinks, covering his bases.

“I want to, though,” he adds, his hand slipping from Aro’s hair to curl in the fabric of his cloak.

“As do I,” Aro tells him, as it that wasn’t evident.

As does Lucian, he thinks, but he isn’t sure whether bringing up their sweet wolf will help or make things worse. It has the potential, certainly, to do both. He brings a hand up to cup Peter’s face, and he leans into it, eyes filled with longing, and it is intoxicating to see it directed at himself. He leans in to press a soft and chaste kiss to Peter’s lips, watching his eyes slip closed.

“Want you,” Peter says, just a hint of a whine to his voice.

“And I you,” Aro reassures him.

“Shouldn’t,” Peter adds.

“I know. But it is all right, Peter. You can have me anyway.”

Peter surges forward again, pressing his lips to Aro’s, licking at them, sliding his tongue into Aro’s mouth once again, pressing closer, pressing his chest against Aro’s. He puts an arm around Peter’s waist, tugging him closer until the human is almost in his lap.

They do not, in the end, do anything more than kiss that night. There isn’t much time or mood for talking, but eventually Peter falls asleep with his head in Aro’s lap, curled up under his cloak. When Lucian returns, just before dawn, he looks down at Aro, a question in the black pools of his eyes. Aro nods, and though Lucian cannot express it, Aro knows how he feels. He joins them, curling around Peter, giving him the warmth that Aro cannot, and for the next few hours, until it gets too hot to sleep, Aro watches over them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to brag about my writing, but I made myself emotional writing this. Or maybe it is to brag, whatever. I am quite proud of writing this, which is a bit embarrassing, but you all are just going to have to deal with that. Price to pay for reading.


	43. 2015: Trinagular Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ground Rules Part II

“Right,” announces Peter, “we’ve got to talk about this shit.”

He appears to be incredibly reluctant, although it had been his idea in the first place. But that’s good, Lucian thinks, letting him take the initiative. He places a supportive hand on Peter’s where it cradles a mug of definitely spiked coffee. At least Lucian assumes it is. He still counts coffee as quite new, being only readily available in the last two hundred years or so back home, if that. But he’s pretty sure there’s not usually alcohol.

“By shit you mean?” Aro asks.

He is drinking blood through a straw, because Peter had insisted, because Peter thought it looked funny. Lucian doesn’t disagree, and Aro is evidently feeling quite indulgent. 

“This… thing,” Peter fails to clarify, gesturing at the three of them.

It has been two days since that night in the desert, since Lucian had returned to find his two loves together as well as _together_. He had been elated, of course, at the prospect not only of the two of them getting along, but even managing to see in each other what he sees in them. But then, when they got home at some point just before noon, and Lucian and Peter went right back to sleep, Peter had suddenly become very busy with work. Lucian didn’t get the sense that he wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened, not exactly, but he did seem reluctant to actively acknowledge it, suddenly finding meetings were for once all scheduled tight, performances longer and rehearsals actually necessary for him and not just everyone else. 

They’re sitting around the kitchen island, and Peter has, for whatever reason, got a pen and a notepad, on which there is already a ring of coffee imprinted. Lucian looks over to Aro, who has finished his blood, and is pushing the cup a way with the slightest hint of disdain. He hasn’t quite dared to approach him again, to believe that it will be truly okay to finally be together properly once more, but oh, he wants it so very badly. He can tell, too, from the looks he and Aro exchange, that he feels the same. The two of them briefly discussed the events of the full moon, enough so that Lucian was told what had been said, enough that he understood that there were feelings, not just lust, but it has been somewhat tense. Everyone afraid that it’s one of those things that disappear as soon as you look at it too close. 

“Been doing some research,” Peter says, getting out his phone and pulling up some screenshots, “on how to make this sort of thing work.”

“What, a hunter, a lycan and a vampire cohabitating?” Aro asks, “you didn’t think to do that half a year ago?”

“Didn’t want it to work out half a year ago,” Peter points out, making a face at Aro, who merely raises an eyebrow in return.

“Then?” Lucian encourages, feeling again like the one who has to make sure everyone plays nice.

This isn’t a problem. Peter asks him, sometimes, how he manages to be so kind and patient and understanding about everything with their situation, and the answer is simply that this is the first time Lucian’s life has been easy. He isn’t in the middle of a war, isn’t a slave, isn’t in hiding from the vampires while still having secret dealings with several of them. No problem they have as a unit can live up to that. He suspects that he will eventually get so used to this calmer and easier life that problems will start to seem bigger, but he thinks that’s a decent way off yet.

“Right. Googled how to be in a poly triangle. First result I found basically told me not to, which is discouraging, but some of the tips I found were more like. Y’know. Communication, openness about wants and needs and worries. Work out what it’s gonna be like beforehand so there’s not nasty surprises. Get some ground rules.”

He pauses, frowns.

“You’re familiar with the concept, yeah Aro?”

The vampire nods.

“I have been alive a terribly long time, these are not new concepts.”

Peter for once doesn’t correct him, doesn’t call him undead. This is promising progress. 

“Right. Good! Yes. So. Lucian, you like both of us. I like both of you. Aro the same, yeah?”

Aro gives a little nod.

“So the obvious solution,” Peter continues, breaking to take a long swallow of alcoholic coffee, presumably to drown his nerves, “is a sort of love triangle solution. But like. Happy and consensual. Happy consensual triangle. Yeah? Like a threesome, but with emotions and staying power.”

Aro looks amused, and Lucian wants desperately to tell them both he loves them. Then, after a short moment, he realises that there is nothing stopping him.

“I love you. Both of you. So very much.”

Both of their faces soften, then, perhaps realising the essence of what they are discussing.”

“And I you,” Aro assures him.

“Same,” Peter says, ever the romantic.

“And that’s the thing right. I don’t- don’t love Aro. And not him me.”

He raises his hands in defence as if expecting disagreement.

“And that’s cool,” he continues, “it might happen in the future. I- fuck, much as me even a month ago would look at me like I’m a fucking lunatic for saying so, I like Aro, and I might love him- you? Eventually. And we’re starting out a bit uneven, right? And I think we need to…”

“Acknowledge that?” Lucian suggests.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, grateful.

“Indeed,” says Aro, “and what you say is true for me as well, though I suspect I have been expecting it to go in this direction for a little longer than you have.”

A series of expressions crosses Peter’s face, the instinct to disagree with Aro, relief, annoyance, hope. Lucian reaches across the counter, taking one of their hands in each of his.

“I love you both, and I think we can find a way to work it out.”

-

It is strange, at first, the three of them. Well, it’s been the three of them and it’s been strange for a while, if Peter’s being entirely honest, but this new, softer dynamic is even more so. Peter has had threesomes before, repeatedly, but it has never been about more than sex. This is… so much more.

He watches Lucian and Aro’s first kiss from across the room, seeing how deeply they get wrapped up in each other, and it fills him with a longing. No jealousy, not yet, which is nice. Just joy at seeing the two of them united, even if it is mostly hidden by twin curtains of long dark hair. It takes him a full minute to realise that’s allowed to be a part of it too, if he wants to. But he doesn’t approach them, not yet. He perches on the armrest of a chair and watches the way their hands tug at each other, both trying to get as close as he can manage. They deserve this reunion, he thinks.

Peter worries, briefly, that now that the two of them are both invested in his continuing to be alive rather strongly, they won’t let him hunt any more. This, fortunately, does not turn out to be the case. The first time they go out they are both very protective, insisting on his being in the middle, they either side to make sure any attack hits them first, but that’s fine. Peter can deal with that. It’s not like he isn’t painfully aware that he is by very very far the weakest of the three of them, fragile and human and distinctly breakable. But he has lived with it so far, he will continue to do so a while yet.

The first night- or rather, the first morning and day that Aro spends in their bed, all of them being, at this point, semi nocturnal, nothing happens. Which is to say nothing sexual happens. Aro, of course, doesn’t sleep, and so he watches over them in the brightening light of day. 

It starts with Lucian in the middle, him being the natural centre of their little triad, and both Aro and Peter wrapped around either side of him, their hands meeting atop Lucian’s chest, above his heart. Peter leans across to kiss Aro, soft and sweet, and then Lucian, and then watching as the two of them kiss also. It’s hard, still, not trying very hard to make sure everyone gets the exact same amount of affection every time. He expects it will get a little easier with time, as this all becomes natural. To know that not every kiss and touch must be tallied up, to know that there mustn’t be a count at the end of every day to make sure all numbers are even. For now, though, it feels like the thing to do.

Peter buries his face in the crook of Lucian’s neck, feeling how hot the lycan is against him, the cool feel of Aro’s hand in his almost a balance. It is good, feeling protected like this, feeling surrounded. It strikes him again, what the now long dead hunter told him. He truly is on the side of the monsters, now, sharing his bed with the two of them. He doesn’t think he minds.


	44. 2015: Together II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just this once, everyone has a really good time ;)

Peter wakes slowly, the light poking between the edges of curtains and in through the open door pleasantly dim, not enough to blind. He rolls to face Lucian, but there is an empty spot next to him on the bed. He frowns, and turns the other way, where he bumps into Aro’s leg. He looks up. The vampire, fully clad, though with his jacket hung over a chair and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, sits leaning against the headboard, reading. He looks down at Peter, his golden eyes unreadable, but the smallest hint of a smile on his lips.

“Morning,” Peter says, making no effort to move back, to break the contact between them.

“Good afternoon,” Aro replies, and Peter knows the nocturnal and perpetually awake vampire isn’t being passive aggressive about his sleep habits.

The nerve.

“Where wolf?” Peter asks, gesturing vaguely to the spot behind him.

“I believe he’s in the shower,” Aro replies, then pauses, frowns.

“Oh I see.”

Peter grins sleepily.

“’M funny,” he tells the vampire, “admit it.”

“Well,” the cruel and evil vampire says, drawing out the word.

Rather than attempt to argue with this obvious slander, this treachery, Peter tugs at Aro. He raises an arched eyebrow in question.

“You,” Peter attempts to clarify, “closer.”

“Ah,” Aro says, and carefully closes his book.

He doesn’t use any kind of bookmark. Perhaps magical memory is another of his vampiric powers. But he does shift, moving to lay down next to Peter, his long dark hair spread around him. Peter stares at his expectant face for a bit, the reddened lips, the dark lashes framing his eyes, the pallid perfection of him. He traces a finger over the vampire’s cool lips.

“You’re very pretty,” he informs him.

“I mean Lucian, very sort of rough and hot, lookswise, but you’re _pretty_.”

“Is that a good thing?” Aro asks. 

“It is,” Peter says, “different, but different good. Like neither of you being a normal human temperature, but you’re so sort of room temperature and he is a large wolf-shaped furnace, and together it’s, y’know. Balanced.”

“I’m glad the parts of our natures we cannot control can still manage to be pleasing to you,” Aro says drily.

Peter groans.

“Know what I mean,” he murmurs, the word ending on a slight whine.

Aro takes pity on him, leaning forward to place a kiss on his forehead. Peter makes a pleased and wordless noise, pressing into it. He shifts up, kissing the vampire’s mouth, his lips cool and soft and soothing. He slides his hand into that long and so very soft hair, humming happily into the kiss, satisfied to feel one of Aro’s arms wrap around him, pulling him closer. 

It’s so strange, how much their relationship has changed, that he feels secure now, in touching, in kissing. Both from his bite, despite the scar that is still faintly red on his arm, but also from his mind reading. He trusts Aro not to, and besides, he thinks he is finally starting to understand what Lucian means, about being wanted despite being fully known. About Aro having seen all the dark secrets inside of him and still wanting him, wanting this. 

“Everything all right?” Aro asks, pulling back just a little.

“Yes,” Peter promises, chasing him, kissing him again.

“Just. Thinking. Bout this. Us. Stuff.”

“Getting cold feet?”

“Look, if anyone’s feet is cold it’s the living corpse here,” Peter shoots back, and then immediately feels guilty.

“Sorry, I didn’t-”

“It is fine, Peter. I have been called much worse. Frequently, in fact, by you.”

Peter grimaces uncomfortably, but Aro only looks amused. He strokes Peter’s cheek, and it is all Peter can do not to lean into it like a cat wanting to be pet.

“When you get to be my age you learn not to care for the opinions of others.”

“Oh? It only takes three and a half millennia? I’ll get there in no time, then.”

Aro laughs, a kisses his nose.

“Perhaps.”

“Fuck,” Peter says, “I didn’t- I’m not- I don’t want-”

“I know,” Aro promises him, quieting him with a finger pressed to Peter’s lips.

“We don’t have to talk about that, I promise.”

The “yet” hangs in the air for a moment, heavy as a brick, but then Aro is pushing Peter over onto his back, and covering him with his own body. He kisses down Peter’s neck, and he winces, instinctively.

“I’m sorry,” Aro says, moving back a little.

“Nah,” Peter says, “just long instinct. Don’t let the vampire that close to your neck. Same thing happened in the start with Lucian, first couple times he grew fangs while we, well. You know.”

“Ah. Well, I suppose I cannot blame you for that. I shall stay away from your neck, if you think that helps.”

Peter shakes his head, tugging on Aro’s hair, forcing him to lean back down.

“Only way to get to where I enjoy it is to do it till it doesn’t scare me any more. Or, well, my subconscious I guess. Lizard brain?”

“I thought you humans decided you were descended from apes?”

Peter sticks out his tongue at him, but Aro listens, going back to kissing down the column of Peter’s throat. It takes a little before he manages to forget that those soft lips hide sharp fangs, but when he manages to do so it feels good. Feels very good. Aro has nudged Peter’s legs apart with one of his own, and Peter finds himself grinding against it. Aro smiles down at him, satisfaction a second from slipping into smugness. Peter wants to kiss the smirk away, and does so.

The vampire moves downward, kissing down Peter’s chest, fingers creeping under the hem of his pyjama bottoms and tugging. He stops for a moment, looking at the long, thin scar just under Peter’s stomach.

“What happened?” he asks.

Which is interesting, because he didn’t ask about the scars on his chest. Perhaps those are more self explanatory. They may be.

“Oh, I had all the bad organs removed,” Peter says, easy and quick, like it’s a joke.

“The bad organs?” Aro asks, tracing a finger along pale scar tissue.

“I just. Ughn. Didn’t want to be at all physically able to become pregnant. Up there with being turned into a vampire, as body horror goes. For me, personally, I mean. Figured, get rid of the whole mess.”

“That does seem effective,” Aro agrees, and it seems he isn’t entirely sure how to respond, except to press a line of kisses along it.

Peter isn’t all that interested in following that particular train of thought, so he wiggles his hips suggestively. Aro smiles, and gets the hint, sitting back to tear off his pyjamas entirely, leaving Peter entirely naked. He looks down at him with a hunger that is mildly concerning to see in the eyes of a vampire who only months previously had drunk his blood. He is also still wearing all his clothes, which seems unfair to Peter. He is about to say something about this when Aro gets down, pressing a kiss to his clit, and Peter is entirely distracted.

It feels a little odd, to have a cool tongue lick at him, surprisingly cold fingers slipping between his folds, and then into him proper, but he supposes it is no different than a sex toy, temperature-wise. And it is so very good. Aro licks into him, and it is so odd, but so good still. He does something Peter can’t quite follow with his tongue, but god, it is so fucking good.

“Fuck,” he says, fingers curling in the sheets, “you are good at this.”

Aro lifts his head to look at him, and his face is glistening with Peter’s slick, and fuck, that is hot. He clenches down, hard around Aro’s fingers, trying to thrust back against them, but a hand on his hip keeps him entirely still. He is so terribly strong, and it’s both frightening and incredibly hot.

“I’ve had _a lot_ of practise,” Aro tells him with a smug smile that show of his fangs.

“Suppose immortality is good for something,” Peter says, and buries his hands in Aro’s hair, trying to force his head back to what he was just doing.

It is not, of course, as if he can force Aro to do anything he doesn’t want to, but the vampire continues all the same. Peter throws a leg across his shoulder, just wanting everything more, deeper. Aro’s tongue inside him is, he thinks, everything he has ever needed, pressing against all the right places. He moves to lick at Peter’s clit, sucking it into his mouth after incredibly carefully scraping a fang across it. Peter nearly impales himself trying to thrust up against it. He presses two fingers into Peter again, curling and pressing up against his g-spot, and he is seconds from coming, back arching up as much as he can, hands holding Aro’s head close, tension mounting within him, like a spring coiling into ever tighter spirals, building up and then-

Peter shouts something wordless as he comes, pressing himself into Aro’s face as hard as he can, letting the vampire lick him through the aftershocks of it, a terribly smug smile on his face. Peter cannot find it in himself to mind. He lies back against the pillows, sated, feeling the echoes of his orgasm pulse through him. 

“Enjoy the show?” Aro asks, and Peter frowns, then turns his head to see Lucian leaning against the door frame.

His long hair is still damp, and he is wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. His arms are crossed over his chest, and Peter can see from the way the towel is tented that he has, indeed, been enjoying the show.

“Long have you been watching?” Peter demands.

Lucian shrugs.

“Long enough? But I am very happy to see the two of you continue to… get along.”

He, too, looks terribly satisfied with himself, but Peter feels far too good to mind. He makes a half hearted come here sort of gesture, and Lucian obeys. He leans down to kiss Peter, then moves to kiss Aro too, and Peter knows he will be able to taste him on Aro’s lips, and that, also, is oddly hot. 

“Tell the vampire he is wearing too many clothes,” Peter says, neither able nor willing to move quite yet, but rather wanting both his boyfriends naked in bed with him.

Oh. Boyfriends. Plural. That’s something, huh? Can he even refer to a millennia old vampire as boyfriend? Surely there is some more pretentious and fitting word. Lover, perhaps? But then, he has been perfectly able to refer to his centuries old lycan boyfriend as such for two years now, so perhaps it is all up to him.

He watches the two of them kiss for a while, Lucian slowly undressing Aro. He slides the shirt carefully from his shoulders, kissing the skin as it is revealed. He seems, to Peter’s mixed feelings, to know exactly how Aro’s archaically structured clothes work, but then, that might just be because he is old. Whatever they are now, all three of them, Peter trusts Lucian not to have cheated while they weren’t.

Eventually, Peter sees Aro naked for the first time. He quite likes the sight, he decides, even if he still undeniably looks a tiny bit like a marble statue someone put a very good wig onto. His cock is slightly odd, though, a darker purplish grey, rather than pinkish red. Perhaps an effect of no longer having his own blood supply. He wonders what fills it up, if not blood. He had mentioned all his bodily fluids being venom. The blood, after all, generally being someone else’s bodily fluid. He doesn’t ask, not now. It seems weird. Instead he shuffles to the edge of the bed, wanting to give the two of them space for whatever it is they are intending to do.

What they are intending to do, it becomes rapidly clear, is fuck. Peter can get into that. He lets them, just the two of them. They need that, he thinks, after not having had the chance for decades. For nearly as long as Peter has been alive. Fuck, that’s weird. His life is really fucking weird these days. But then, he supposes it has been for ages.

He watches, two fingers lazily rubbing along his clit, as Aro prepares Lucian, sliding lube slick fingers into him, stopping frequently to kiss him, so very tenderly that it makes several parts of Peter ache. Both of their expressions as Aro sinks into Lucian is something Peter very dearly wants to remember for the rest of his life. Eyes half closed in pleasure, that little sigh of contentment as if this is what they have been waiting for so very long. He supposes it is, and is surprised that the thought doesn’t make him feel bad. 

Watching the two of them, inches away, is like a highly personalised form of porn. A 4D experience of it, where Peter can occasionally reach out, brush fingers over flushed or cold skin, press the occasional kiss to an arm or shoulder. Not quite participating, but not entirely on the sidelines either. 

He brings himself off before either of the two immortals finish. Something about having centuries to build up stamina, he supposes, or perhaps it is because personally isn’t trying to make the moment last. But it is nice, because he gets to pay proper attention to the faces the two of them make as they reach their releases within moments of each other. That too is a sight he tries to etch into his memory.

Peter pushes himself up onto an elbow, leaning close to kiss both of them in turn. Aro lies half atop Lucian, having gotten as far as pulling out, but evidently then decided that moving was for other people. Lucian’s arms are wrapped around Aro where he rests his head on Lucian’s chest. If this is what his morning are going to be like from now he will regret nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I meant to put this earlier. Peter's talking about the very fact of having organs capa le of child production as body horror is very. My thing. I'm not a trans man, but i am... something not entirely cis I'm beginning to work out, if that makes up for it. Not saying that that's how everyone feels obviously, but they are my feelings, and Peter gets to live that. But the future part, after surgeries, when everything is nice and healed and there is nothing to fear. Although personally I would much rather become a vampire than pregnant, obviously.


	45. 2015: Bloody History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter learns more about Aro's past, and Peter's therapist is becoming increasingly worried and frankly she's not wrong

Aro blinks open his eyes. He hasn’t slept, precisely, because he very literally cannot, but he has lain very still for a good number of hours and thought of nothing but how nice this feels. His face is pressed into Lucian’s neck, right where chest hair almost blends into beard (he does appreciate his sweet wolf being a bit fuzzy in human form too, it suits him), and has been making good use of the fact that he doesn’t actually need to breathe. The lycan has an arm thrown over his side, and it feels good, feels protective. Not, of course, that Aro needs protection, not really, but the feeling is nice all the same. Somewhere, beyond Lucian, Peter lies sprawled, halfway succeeding in breathing through his pillow. Aro is listening, he will wake him should he start to actually suffocate.

This is a strange year. Not the one that has just begun, but the last one. It feels a little unreal, being here. Like the time they have is borrowed, and although nothing seems to be going back to normal, either for Lucian or him, surely something must happen? It is not as if Aro’s life hasn’t always been comfortable- well, his unlife, at least, as Peter would put it. He has been extremely powerful and increasingly wealthy since the late Bronze Age, after all. And he has, technically, been able to delegate much of his work governing the vampires, but he historically hasn’t, preferring to be aware of what is going on, an active part in all decisions. So he isn’t used to all this… stillness.

Lucian shifts, and makes a soft and growling sort of noise in his sleep, and Aro moves back just a little. He presses his lips to Lucian’s cheek in a kiss so gentle it is barely there. The stillness, however unusual, feels good.

-

“I mean, I get it, none of us get to decide what we are. It’s not like you chose to become a vampire,” Peter says, towards the tail end of a rather existential conversation they have over what the human insists qualifies as breakfast despite the fact it is six in the evening, and the sun has already set.

Aro looks mildly uncomfortable.

“Aro?”

“I did, actually. Choose to become what I am.”

“What? Why?”

Peter looks at him distrustfully, and so Aro feels the need to explain himself. It really is strange what caring for this deeply anti-vampiric human is doing to him.

“Well. What do you know of medicine in Antiquity?”

“Hippocrates? Galen? Leeches?”

“Impressively good guesses, but those were all, excluding the medicinal use of leeches, not that that is particularly useful at any rate, over a millennia after I was human. What we did have was making offerings and praying to Apollon and Asclepius that they would deliver us from sickness and injury, and, and I don’t know how familiar you are with the ancient Greek Pantheon, Peter, but they were not, traditionally, known for their helpfulness.”

“Oh, right,” Peter says, and he looks as though he perhaps can predict where Aro is going with this.

And Aro may care for him, more deeply than he likes to admit, but he is not about to not take full advantage of the faintest hint of moral high ground he can scale. He has been around for every military advancement since the sword, and is not one to underestimate whatever mixture of favour and pity he can gain. Some part of him realises this isn’t how one is supposed to think about relationships, but that’s not the part of him that has ensured his survival for millennia, and so he shuts it down.

“We- my family, we weren’t rich. Our offerings could never be great. And so, I got sick. I got sick, declining for months, and I failed to get better, however much grain we offered the gods, and so, when someone who appeared to me to be some sort of half-god, some nymph or divine representative on Earth, shining like the sun itself, offering me the opportunity to live forever, I said yes.”

Peter looks chastened, and behind him, where he is leaning into Lucian’s chest, the lycan’s eyebrows are raised and there is a hint of a smile. He knows what Aro is doing and isn’t hindering or helping him.

“What was wrong with you?” Peter asks, as if that is the point.

“I don’t know. It could have been any number of things. I could have gotten better the next day, or died, we knew so very little back then. If you are trying to determine whether my choice was justified, I cannot help you.”

“Didn’t you think the fangs and blood drinking were a bit ominous?”

Aro chances on a soft lie, just to make Peter feel better about who he chooses to let into his bed. After all, what is the harm?

“The vampire who made me chose not to mention that consequence of the change. Nor, for that matter, the few excruciating days it takes while your body is ripping itself apart, the venom replacing all your insides, your skin changing and growing harder.”

Peter looks uncomfortable.

“And why are you telling me?”

Aro looks at him, head tilted.

“Well, you are not going to let me turn you, however your views on immortality and the importance of humanity do or do not alter. You may change your mind and allow Lucian to, but never me. I know, intimately, your disgust and hatred for my kind.”

It is, perhaps, a little harsh, but he is not wrong. Peter squirms, uncomfortably, and Lucian gives him an odd look.

“We do not,” he adds, palms up to emphasise his attempt at placating, “have to discuss that now, or soon, Peter, I promise. It simply seems to me that that was what you were asking.”

Peter shrugs.

“S’pose it was. But either way, I – Well. Thanks. And- and you know I don’t hate you for what you are, Aro. I hate the killing humans part.”

Aro blinks.

“It is fairly intrinsic, my dear.”

“Is not,” Peter argues, “you can live off animal blood. Not sure all species can, but it’s for sure an option for you. And vampires in Buffy. Granted, I’m not sure Whedon consulted any vampires- and I have lost you both. Right. Dracula! You both know Dracula. Literally and metaphorically, and good fucking god that’s weird. But! Point is, Dracula feeds off Mina and Lucy for ages without them dying or turning, at least not fully. Plenty of non killing options.”

“Well, I suppose, yes. Much as for humans there are many ways to live without having to kill other creatures for sustenance, and yet very few of you make that choice.”

Peter makes a series of increasingly aggravated facial expressions, and Lucian continues to watch them with the patience of a saint. He could have been an icon, some beautiful and serene holy man painted towards the end of the middle ages. Aro very seriously debates painting him as such, even if the proper authentic paints will likely be a pain to get hold of in this millennium.

“That’s not the fucking same,” Peter argues.

“Is it not? As you say, we vampires can live on blood without having to kill our victims. Can you say the same of meat consumption? I suppose you could cut limbs from cows, one after another, and they could survive, but that would not be particularly sustainable… Or less cruel.”

“That’s revolting,” Peter tells him.

“Precisely,” Aro agrees with a smile, letting his fangs show.

“And still not the fucking same. Unless you’re saying humans are the same as cows in your eyes.”

Aro shrugs, and he can feel the frustration radiating off Peter and it is beautiful and satisfying, and he wonders if perhaps the concept of psychic vampirism can be real after all. As he himself is proof, somewhat psychic vampires certainly are. 

“You’re both edible,” he argues, “Lucian, you would know better than me.”

Lucian gives him a betrayed look.

“Lucian? What the fuck’s the bloodsucker talking about?” Peter demands, turning to face the lycan, and, in process, almost falling onto the floor. 

He glares at, presumably, the very concept of gravity. 

“It was one time,” Lucian says, defensively, “and cows taste better.”

Peter’s eyes are wide, his frown deep, but Lucian can hear from his pulse and his breathing that he is, at least somewhat, exaggerating his anger and outrage for dramatic effect.

“Maybe the hunter was right,” Peter mutters, “have gone too far in defence of the monsters.”

Lucian kisses his cheek.

“Perhaps, as you think, it is lucky that I am incredibly sexy,” Aro suggests, and Peter groans.

“That is on par with the murders, badnesswise.”

Aro arches an eyebrow.

“Nearly,” Peter amends, “nearly as bad as the murders. And you too, Lucian, with the cannibalism?”

“It can’t be cannibalism,” Lucian explains, “because I am not human. Well, not since before I was born.”

-

“My life is so fucking weird,” Peter complains.

It is a day later, and he is sitting scrunched up in the comfy armchair as his therapist watches him with what appears to be boundless patience for his lack of explaining anything at any point.

“What makes you say that?” she asks, and Peter has to try to think of a way to tell her without, well, telling her.

“Well, I- okay look. You know the guy I mentioned? My boyfriend’s ex? Who had to stay with us for a while because he was homeless and broke and stuff?”

“I recall,” she confirms, and something in her tone tells Peter he might have complained about Aro here more than once.

“Well, turns out he’s slightly less terrible than he seemed.”

“How so?”

“Well, I am dating him now,” he says, so quickly the words almost run together, afraid if he takes it slow he will lose courage.

“Wait, you broke up with your boyfriend? That’s the sort of important life event it is useful for me to know, which is likely to impact your-”

“Not exactly,” he interrupts her, because he’s not paying this much for scolding he doesn’t even deserve.

For once.

“Then?”

“We’re, uh, all sort of dating? And also still living together.”

She blinks, surprised, and takes a few seconds to collect herself enough to respond.

“I see. I did not realise you were polyamorous.” 

Peter laughs.

“Hah, yeah. Me either. Or my boyfriend, it turns out. Poor man didn’t even know the word. He’s from a uuh. Quite conservative and rural part of Romania. Not so big on stuff like that there, maybe. Don’t know. Haven’t been. You’d think I would’ve right, doing a show about vampires. Hmm. Maybe I’ll ask him to take me one day.”

“And the- the newer, ah, boyfriend? The ex-ex?”

“Oh, no idea. He’s. uh. He’s a little bit older than us. Not- not in a weird creepy way, he’s still hot, I promise.”

“Whether or not he is attractive is, believe it or not Peter, not my primary concern.”

“Should be,” he quips, but is silenced by a look.

“Is it- I mean. Does it work?”

Peter shrugs.

“So far, yeah. I mean, attempting a three-way kiss has been challenging so far, but to be honest I already knew that’s hard to make be hot. And they are both really very good in bed. And despite being kind of an asshole, he is actually pretty… kind. And caring. And sort of weirdly protective? And I don’t know- know what aspect of, uh, what I am is making him be that way, but- I don’t know. Not sure it matters. It’s, uh, it’s early days yet, I suppose, and we’ve already done the moving in together, so there is nothing immediate looming, big decision-wise. I mean, not as if we can- like I know you guys have legalised same sex marriage now, but probably not between three men, none of whom are American citizens. Also I think the new guy isn’t here legally. I’m not sure. We still got patient-doctor confidentiality shit, yeah?”

His therapist looks overwhelmed and tired.

“Yes,” she confirms, “we do. But you don’t need to- I don’t- Perhaps you should ask me that before you reveal somewhat incriminating information, next time? Not that it will change, I just mean as a general rule.”

“Oh. Yeah. Good. Anyway. Thoughts?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did take up intro to antiquity and latin 1001 this semester so do prepare for a lot of unnecessary stuff about Aro's past because I want to have a good time and use what I learn for... something. So, sorry in advance.


	46. 2015: Remembering Rome

Lucian smiles. Aro and Peter are having some kind of very heated argument, but it is about something utterly consequential, and it is clear, Lucian can tell, that they are doing this for fun. The other patrons of the restaurant do not seem to share his view, though, because they keep casting worried glances in the direction of the three of them. 

They are somewhere fancy, a place Peter had picked out, and were it not for the two men arguing furiously about, Lucian thinks, something to do with tailoring, he would be deeply uncomfortable here. Admittedly he has significant experience with vampire nobility, but primarily from a slave perspective, which isn’t helping with this sort of situation. He isn’t used to the inside of it.

Aro is wearing sunglasses, to hide his golden eyes. They are less eerie looking than his red eyes, of course, but still, in combination with his unnatural pallor, odd enough to warrant covering up. So. Sunglasses. Peter and Aro spent ages trying to find the right kind, and, being who they are, the glasses cost nearly a thousand dollars. Lucian has long come to terms with being the only one in the relationship who isn’t a rich idiot, but they do seem to be his type. 

Vampires, of course, at least the ones with whom Lucian are familiar so far, do not eat or drink. So while he and Peter ordered food (delicious, filled with things Lucian doesn’t know what are, but also very good meat), Aro has ordered a single glass of wine, which Peter and Lucian are sharing, while Aro responds to the waiter’s question of whether or not he has changed his mind and will be ordering any food with only the arch of one eyebrow poking up from his sunglasses.

They fall into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, as Peter and Lucian finish their entrées. Lucian watches his two lovers, the two absolutely ridiculous goths he has chosen to be in a relationship with, a vampire and a vampire hunter. 

“Remember Rome?” Aro asks, pointedly picking up his glass and pretending to sip his wine as a waitress walks by.

“Of course,” Lucian replies, then pauses.

“Which time?”

Aro smirks, and Peter raises his eyebrows, and signals, quite rudely, at one of the waiters that he would like more wine. One day Lucian will make him be nicer to people in the service industry, but it is not this day, it appears.

“The last time.”

“Oh. Yes. Eighty-three?”

“Which eighty-three?” asks Peter, who has gotten used to this by now.

“Oh, the last one,” Aro clarifies.

“Aro was showing me the Colosseum, at night. It was lovely. Telling me about what it was like when it opened. He was there for it, of course.”

“Of course,” Peter agrees, and rolls his eyes, but Lucian can see the fondness he tries very hard to hide.

“It was beautiful. Very violent. The lions… Oh, watching as they devoured the fighters. The world has not known true art since.”

“You’re a terrible person,” Peter informs him.

“This ought not to surprise you by now.”

“Nah. Thought maybe you’d forgotten, is all.”

“That would be hard, given how fond you are of reminding me,” Aro points out, looking at him with what would appear to outside eyes to be disdain.

“Someone’s got to keep that head of yours from getting to big. Just doing my civil duty.”

“Aro had been making me taste what he claims were all the best wines,” Lucian says, in an effort to sway the conversation towards more friendly topics, “despite the fact he has not been to Italy while alive, and consequently has absolutely no idea what he was talking about.”

“I had read guides. Reviews.”

“He had a theory that if I got sufficiently drunk, and he drank some of my blood, he would be able to taste the wine on it,” Lucian explains.

“Did it work?” Peter asks, eyes narrowed.

“Absolutely not. But I got very drunk. And we- ah..”

“Killed some homophobes,” Aro supplies.

Peter looks conflicted.

“They were human?”

“They were.”

“Did they like. Hate crime you?”

“They tried to.”

Peter hums, tries to work out whether he is okay with this.

“Right. Details?”

Aro sighs, so Lucian takes it on himself to tell him.

“We were, ah, Aro was showing me the Colosseum. Again, although in fairness it had been nearly two centuries since the last time. And it was closed, as most monuments are at four at night. It was beautiful, a nearly full moon illuminating the ruins from above, and I was very drunk, and insisting Aro kiss me. And apparently we were not the only ones there. And I- I suppose I was a little enthusiastic.”

“He sat in my lap and tried to take all my clothes off. But he was too drunk to understand the concept of buttons,” Aro supplies, and Peter laughs.

“There had been, in my defence, a significant amount of wine. But yes. It may have been, perhaps, a bit much, had it been in public, but it was in the upper parts of the Colosseum in the middle of the night. There ought not have been anybody there to be bothered by it.”

“So you two didn’t fuck of top of the Colosseum?”

“Not that time, no.”

Peter looks like he is about to have something to say about that, so Lucian continues.

“But there were some men who had also broken in there, who had, much like me, been drinking quite a lot, and who decided that they did not appreciate our ah. Displays of affection. And they had some suggestions for us, some of which were clearly things I was already planning on doing, I don’t think they quite thought their insults through. But, as we didn’t seem particularly threatened, they did get out knives. And then Aro did kill and drain them all. But, and this is the important part, they would clearly have done the same if we were humans, and if you look at it like that, we very much prevented future hate crimes.”

Peter looks between them for a moment.

“Yeah all right. Fair. Homophobes are fair game, I suppose. Least in the past. Still very much into you not doing murders, Aro.”

The music in the restaurant, fortunately, is quite loud, and unless there are other supernatural beings there, Lucian does not believe that anybody will overhear them.

“Then,” Lucian continues, hoping to steer the still somewhat public conversation slightly away from murder, “he took me to the Domus Aurea and pointed out all the places he and Nero had sex.”

“Wait, like, the crazy emperor guy?” Peter asks.

“The emperor, yes,” Aro confirms.

“Huh.”

“Apparently he was quite good in bed, at least that is what I inferred from the sheer number of places you pointed out.”

“Better, perhaps, at that then ruling,” Aro admits, “but my dear Sulpicia was fond of him. She was a poet, you know. Some of her works survive even to this day. In human hands, I mean. She has, of course, only been- been dead for a. Well. Not for terribly long at all. But he did prioritise the arts, and so she did insist we see him. And then have a series of… encounters with the emperor. And his wife, on occasion.”

“Foursome, nice,” Peter says, as if that is the point.

Lucian, on the other hand, feels bad for not in greater detail having asked how Aro is dealing with the loss of his wife of two thousand years. He looks down, as Aro and Peter begin discussing the challenges and delights of foursomes, a subject on which they both, apparently, have extensive opinions, and also experience with. Lucian lets his focus drift, until all the noises in the restaurant take over; the music playing, the chatter of the other customers, the clinking of metal on china. Until there is nothing but abstract noises and an odd guilt curling in his stomach. He tries to drown it out with wine, but it doesn’t quite work. Peter hasn’t even brought up that eighty-three was the year his parents were murdered. Perhaps he hasn’t made the connection. Or else he is choosing very deliberately not to think about it, that is possible also.

Aro has talked a lot of the impracticalities of the events in Washington, but he has barely mentioned the impact it must have had on him, so much so that Lucian himself has barely considered it. But it must be a lot. It must be, because the vampire has made almost no real attempts at regaining his power, his position. And it is not simply because he found Lucian despite thinking him dead, nor because he has, over time, become fond of Peter also. Lucian knows Aro to be fully capable of being invested in a relationship while also spending most of his time running the Volturi. No. No, it must be something else.

Because he did suffer significant loss. He did almost die, and to Lucian’s knowledge it is the only time he has come close to a true death in his long life. And it must have been quite traumatic for him. He supposes Peter might say Aro had deserved it. Aro has not talked much of the situation leading up to it, but Lucian knows it is related, somehow, to the union of a vampire and a human. 

When they get home, and it is a little after midnight, Lucian still feels off. He doesn’t quite understand, still, what he needs to say, to do, and so he does what he usually does when unsure; he shifts into his wolf shape. Ideally he would go and run through the woods and mountains, but that is impractical tonight, so he just lays down in front of the fire place he still doesn’t understand why Peter needs in this desert city. 

It is easier to ignore things as a wolf, and so he is able to mostly tune out whatever it is Aro and Peter are discussing. He thinks, perhaps, the vampire is telling Peter more of famous historical people with whom he has had relations, as Peter seems oddly fascinated with the concept, but Lucian doesn’t particularly want to know. For anything after the thirteenth century, unless it is himself or Aro’s wife, he really doesn’t want to know. He knows, of course, that he was hardly the only one, but that doesn’t mean it is something he enjoys thinking about. Not even when, as Peter had pointed out, he himself is a- what was the word? A lover to many? Something like that.

He sighs, wearily, and then moments later feels fingers running through his fur. Several sets of them, in fact. Both Aro and Peter have settled on the floor next to him, continuing their conversation, now apparently having moved to Aro talking of Athens in the 500s. The earlier ones, naturally, after Peter having evidently exhausted the list of emperors he knows to ask about.

Lucian misses his pack. Admittedly the three of them are a sort of small pack, and he loves both of them so dearly, but he misses other lycans. He misses running with other wolves, and he misses collapsing in a heap of fur after a successful hunt, too full and lazy to change back to human form. It might not be something he ever gets back, and even if he did he sincerely doubts that Aro or Peter would want to live with a pack of lycans, and he does not think he could give up the two of them, not for anything. There are, he supposes, compromises with everything.

“You all right, wolf boy?” Peter asks, stroking a finger along the edge of Lucian’s long jaw.

He nods, licking at Peter’s finger, and feeling just a little bit grateful that his face is more difficult to read like this. At least to the human. Aro, probably, knows it too well. Knows him too well. He can feel it from the minute pause in the way those cool fingers stroke the fur on his neck. The vampire whispers something, so silent and soft that Peter cannot hear, and not in a language he understands, either, and Lucian feels a little bit lighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched the nero episode of fall of an empire and uuuuuh I love Michael sheen as Nero very very much.


	47. 1302 BC, 1300 BC, 17 BC, 1501 AD: The Continued Fall of Civilisations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aro

It is the year 1302 BC, although it will not, of course, be known as such for dozens of centuries yet. Nor will the B or the C mean anything to anyone for a millennium and a half, but that is not important. Aro is nearing his fifth decade of life; he has been thirty eight for a while now. This is significant only in the sense that his relatively advanced age has him worrying more about the fact that he can’t seem to feel well. Whatever this sickness is, some curse, some result of his showing hubris, some punishment sent down from the gods above, it insists on lingering.

Aro has never taken a wife. This isn’t because he does not have an inclination to, but rather because he has been in mourning for a decade now. There was… a lover. A man. Which isn’t ideal, socially speaking, it will not lead to sons, but he had been the great love of his life, and he had been at sea and he had been taken by Poseidon or his daughters, dragged down into those bottomless abysses. 

Aro’s father died when he was nearly grown, and so it has, since, been Aro’s task to look after the family. He is the oldest son. He is the only son who grew past early childhood. Children perish so very easily, and so only he and one sister made it through. But she is gone, has been married off and is living in a village several weeks of travel away. So other than his ailing mother, there is not so much which keeps him tethered, holds him in place. He has considered leaving, but it doesn’t feel right, and anyway he is ill, and perhaps when he is well again, perhaps when there is less to worry about. Only there is never less to worry about.

-

In 1300 Aro has gotten weaker. He can no longer keep up with the work that needs done, can no longer travel far enough to exchange what goods they cannot produce themselves. Many days he cannot manage to get up, and when he wakes everything hurts. On a morning in late summer he has gotten outside, and in lieu of work he simply sits on a stone, gazing out of the crops he still must harvest, feeling overwhelmed. The Mycenaean civilisation is nearing its end, and so is his life, and though he cannot know either of these things, he feels it still. He feels it in the ground beneath his feet, in the air, in the same fashion that he can feel the thoughts of the people around him sometimes.

It is not long after that Marcus approaches him. Aro had known him, somewhat, in life, but that was an entirely different person than the pale and shimmering being before him, with eyes like rubies. He offers Aro the gift of eternal life, and though he mentions the need to feed on other humans, Aro doesn’t hesitate. This is a gift from the gods, and who is he to deny himself their blessing, however dark it may be?

The few days of the transformation itself is agony. It is his body tearing itself apart and replacing itself, cells remaking themselves into something harder and more dangerous, all fluids, blood and phlegm and biles turning to venom, stinging the inside of his body, what remains soft and human. He regrets his choice. He regrets it until the pain suddenly stops, the change evidently over. Until he walks out into the sun and sees the way his skin lights up, bright as the sun itself. And then a little bit again as the thirst begins to overwhelm him.

-

In 1290, after a decade of feasting on the blood of his enemies, he returns to the area where he was born, and finds Didyme, his only living sister. His only living relative, at that point, and he bites her. He gives her the gift of eternal life, and she in turn falls in love with Aro’s own sire; Marcus. Aro himself remains alone, at least in love, to the coven they form is a sort of home, a sort of family.

-

The centuries pass, and Aro and his coven grow stronger. They turn a few more vampires, but are careful not to bring too many of them into their group. Too many, and the disappearances start to grow suspicious. There becomes too much death, and invulnerable as they are, they still need the proximity of humans to live.

Aro watches the end of the Mycenaean age, watches as even the alphabet of his language disappears. He watches the centuries unfold, the dark age, the archaic age, until Athens rises, becomes the most important polis of the Greek world, and as as they are eventually surpassed by Rome. It is in this latter empire, a decade after Augustus has become emperor. 

He first finds her as he is walking the streets of Rome. She sits by herself, outside a house, murmuring to herself in that new language, in Latin. It is dusk, and so Aro is free again to walk among the humans, though he is careful to keep his eyes downcast, lest their blood red hue frighten the people. 

She is scared, initially, when he approaches her, and he cannot blame her. Though he is, of course, an immortal, an undead, a creature of the night, she sees him as something even more potentially dangerous; a man. It takes some time, but he convinces her to read him some of her poetry. It speaks of love, of passion, and so he asks her who she writes about. She confesses that there is no one, that her longing remains fully without a target so far. 

Aro takes it upon himself to get to know her, to potentially inspire more of her writings. He comes to see her in the evenings, initially explaining that he has work that keeps him occupied in the daytime. Soon, though, he reveals his nature to her. It is easier than it will eventually become. Myths and monsters, though not quite everyday occurrences, are not the impossibility they later will become. He takes her away, to somewhere deserted, and waits for the sunrise with her, showing her what he is. It is not long, after that, before she agrees to join him in immortality.

-

He watches as Rome rises and then, eventually, falls. They settle in Tuscany, not all that far from Rome, not really. He is aware, of course, that the Eastern Roman Empire continues on from Byzantium, but he does not consider that to be the real thing. The Western had not been the proper thing for some centuries either, not under this new god, this one singular one. Aro doesn’t trust him. He has not seen any proper evidence that the gods of his youth were real, but surely they cannot be less so than this new one. He ceased giving offerings not very long after his rebirth, but he kept his faith for much longer. 

After they settle in Volterra, the Volturi thrive. The coven grows, incorporating new members, and Aro is busy, always. He does not, he finds, have fewer worries than he did in his human life, but they are different ones, at the very least. Sickness and death and famine are no longer problems to be dealt with, but instead there is the fear of discovery, the unification of covens, and so much politics. It would tire him, if becoming tired was something he was capable of still. 

-

In 1504 he shares this with the young wolf he has tamed. At least that is how he thinks of it, though by now he would not use the phrase in Lucian’s presence. He is very proud, Aro’s sweet wolf, and he has worked hard to become so, and Aro tries to respect that. But after centuries, after nearly three millennia on this Earth, so much of the lives of others have become abstract. He can see someone’s entire life in the blink of an eye, but it ceases, after a time, to mean anything.

“I cannot say I don’t envy you that,” Lucian tells him, as they sit outside and watch the stars.

Aro has summoned him to Rome, this time, to see what is left of that once wondrous city, to see the ruins of that great empire, now gone for a millennium. Lucian, still somewhat susceptible to the elements, has a thick cape around his shoulders, for it is nearly winter, and even Rome can feel cold. It is one he has borrowed from Aro, lined with the fur of normal wolves, which Lucian had asked if was some sort of threat. Aro had thought it might be a familiar comfort, but he sees now how Lucian’s interpretation made sense.

“No?”

Aro is genuinely curious, as Lucian too is an immortal, after all. 

“Some of us still have the possibility of death looming over us, some of us still feel pain.”

Aro’s brows knit together in a frown.

“So do I.”

“Well, perhaps, but the chances of you experiencing it is far lower than my own, my lord.”

Aro raises an eyebrow.

“Not as much as you think. I feel pain right now. Your words have wounded me.”

Lucian laughs, and leans a little closer, one of his warm hands finding Aro’s cold one beneath the cape. Fingers twist together, tight and familiar and lovely, even as few times as they have seen each other. The wolf leans his head on Aro’s shoulder, the weight a comfort.

“I am not without sympathy for the troubles and challenges of leadership, you know,” Lucian continues, “it may only have been my burden to bear for a century yet, but that is enough time to learn it is far from easy. And I am grateful, eternally so, for the help that you have given me, of course, but it is hard. We can still be killed. We are still hunted.”

“I know,” Aro says, and turns his head to press a kiss to the top of Lucian’s head.

“And,” he continues, “you have my help, should you need it. Though I know you hesitate to ask for more, I want you to know that you can.”

“Should the need arise, I will,” Lucian promises, but Aro has read his mind and knows he will not, not unless the lives of his whole pack are at stake.

It is not exactly pride, but it is a reluctance to be deeper in debt than Lucian already feels himself to be. Aro has no plans to call on that debt, not yet. He doesn’t need anything from Lucian, and given their respective positions he doubts he ever will, but it is useful, still, to have something to hold over his furry head. As much as he cares for him, as much as the wolf cares for him in return, it is difficult not to see it as at least somewhat of a transaction.

He has given up on the idea of employing lycan guards, now, he knows Lucian would not let him, but that hardly matters. It had been a fascinating idea, but he does not want the wolf to resent him. His affections bring him more joy than the command of his people ever could, and that is, he thinks, best for both their species. They are, after all, allies, and Aro knows he can call in his debt at any time, should there be use for it. 

He feels Lucian shiver against him, and pulls him into a tighter embrace. It may not actually warm him, that is one thing Aro cannot do, but it can comfort him still, Aro thinks. The ruins on which they sit are made from marble, icy cold in the night air, yet still Aro has plans. Thoughts on how they can stay warm. He lifts Lucian’s head, pulls him up till they are face to face and presses a kiss to his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the wiki implies sulpicia was turned at the same time as didyme, but her name is clearly roman, named, presumably, after the two roman poets from the empire, and so that is a choice i've made. as usual, stephanie meyer can get fucked, but i am still trying to keep to what csnon info there is. had to google so many things for this.


	48. 2015:

Peter wakes up pressed between a sleeping Lucian and a no more moveable Aro. They both have arms thrown across his middle, and it is both very nice and warm and comforting and also very slightly irritating. Like he’s fenced in, just a little bit. He wriggles, and receives a cool kiss to his forehead for his troubles. When he blinks open an eye it meets two golden ones watching him.

“Have you slept well?” Aro asks.

“Mnf,” Peter replies, and yawns.

He feels Lucian shifting against him, holding him closer in his sleep. The hand lying curled on Peter’s hip has nails that are long and dark, almost claws. There is a full moon tonight, and clearly his control slips a bit when he sleeps. Also Peter suspects it may be close to five in the afternoon. They are, all three of them, fairly nocturnal by now.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, and lets Aro kiss him, soft and sweet.

Such a caring monster. He runs a hand through long dark hair, fingers tangling, pulling just a little. Feels the sharp points of fangs against his lips.

“What do you do? All night? Not reading now, so?”

Aro has taken to spending more of the night with the two of them. While he does of course not sleep, he leaves for other vampiric reasons quite seldom these days, a fact which is both flattering and puzzling. Reassuring and worrying.

“Appreciate the two of you?” Aro suggests.

“For eight hours? I know we’re hot, but that seems very close to just creepily watching us sleep.”

Aro frowns.

“We are in a relationship. Can watching you sleep still be considered creepy?”

“Afraid so, yeah. More so, admittedly, when your eyes are all scary red. Or black, that one time. But yeah.”

“I shall refrain from doing so, then. But no, you are right. I do not spend hours upon hours thinking of how lucky I am, although perhaps I ought to. I certainly have cause to do so. But I do… Well. You know I can… absorb terribly vast amounts of information, when I read someone’s mind? A lifetime of it, depending on how long the contact lasts, how hard I try.”

“Mhm,” Peter agrees, lifting Aro’s hand and placing it on his cheek, keeping it in place with his own.

Lucian makes a growly noise in his sleep, his face moving just a little against Peter’s neck. 

“Well, processing it all takes time.”

“So, what, it’s like you watching memories back like on a screen with your eyes closed?”

“I- well, no, not exactly. But I suppose that’s an easier way to think about it. All right. Yes. A bit like that. Going through and sorting memories and experiences.”

“And- And everything you see, in everyone’s minds, that’s just… It’s there forever?”

“Yes. My memory is… unfortunately perfect. It has been so since I was bitten. My human memories are much harder to grasp.”

Peter shivers.

“So everything. You know just. Just everything?”

“About you? Yes, more or less. The things you yourself remember. I read your mind, not your brain.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I can’t know the things that you can’t.”

“But everything else?”

Aro nods. The hand on Peter’s cheek is warming up, reflecting his own body heat back at him. It is strange, but less unsettling than it used to be.

“There is nothing I have seen in your mind that would make me feel any less affection towards you, Peter,” Aro promises gently, “I have seen the insides of so many minds, none of the things you worry about matter in the slightest to me. You are normal, you are good. I have seen enough to know the difference.”

Peter closes his eyes briefly, then looking back at Aro. He thinks his eyes might be just slightly wet, and also that he understands what Lucian means. How reassuring on a fundamental level Aro’s – well, being liked by Aro can be. How affirming and validating. Peter knows he shouldn’t need the promise of a mind reading vampire who has murdered incomprehensibly many people to tell him he’s a decent person, but it certainly helps. 

“Wait, so. Every mind you’ve ever seen. They’re just all there? Inside of you all the time?”

“Yes.”

“How does- Doesn’t that make you crazy?”

Aro smiles a bitter little smile.

“That has been suggested, yes.”

“No, I mean. Doesn’t- Isn’t it awful?”

Aro rolls over onto his back, clasping his hands on his chest, vampire style.

“It depends on the mind in question. But yes. Sometimes it is. Seeing the absolute worst in people, and seeing the people who have had the most horrible things done to them. Seeing their nightmares. Occasionally being their nightmares, too. Like you.”

“I’m-”

“I know. Very few people have nightmares on purpose, Peter. But it is… a little upsetting, I must admit.”

“’M sorry,” Peter murmurs, shifting so he rests his head and one arm on Aro’s chest.

Claws dig very slightly into the skin of his side, attempting to hold him close. Then they loosen their grip entirely, and Peter hears a yawn and the rustling of fabric from behind him. He turns just a little, just to look.

“Morning,” he tells Lucian.

The lycan isn’t, currently, entirely human. Or, well, of course he isn’t. He isn’t human at all, not ever, he is always a lycan, whatever shape he currently takes, but he _looks_ a bit less human than normal. His body hair is denser, darker. Not quite fur, but the suggestion is there. His fingers are pretty solidly tipped with claws now, and his eyes are an unearthly and empty blue. Moon blue. When he speaks there are fangs.

“Good morning, my loves,” Lucian replies, blinking, voice rough with sleep, with vocal chords that want to produce growls and roars rather than words.

He pushes himself up enough to lean over and kiss them both in turn, before flopping back down, eyes slipping closed again.

“What are the two of you talking about?” he asks, running a claw along the length of Peter’s torso, making him shiver ever so slightly.

“Mmm. Aro’s weirdo superpowers.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Was just about to ask what he thinks mine would be, if he bit me.”

This isn’t strictly true, but Peter wants to steer things in a slightly more light hearted direction. 

“Hypothetically,” he adds, for emphasis.

“Well, you know not all vampires have these actual supernatural powers?”

Peter rolls his eyes.

“ _Hypothetically_ ,” he adds again, scowling at his undead lover.

Aro watches him for a moment, eyes narrowed. Peter squirms a little, and Lucian, sensing that, pulls him into his arms, kissing the back of his neck. What if the vampire can’t think of a single talent Peter has?

“Like what are the different ones?” he asks, stalling for time, “telepathy, yeah? Uh. Anyone have telekinesis? Pyrokinesis?”

“We are not like your human superheroes, Peter.”

“No, they do tend to do less murders, I feel like.”

Peter becomes briefly aware of the fact that Aro, by virtue of having read his mind, has also consumed, second hand, all media Peter has ever consumed. Poor vampire. Peter has many good sides, but good taste may not be one of them.

“It is more.. based on what you can do as a human. Seeing the future, making people happy, torturing them with visions, seeing whether people are related…”

Peter sputters.

“You lot have a very strange definition of super powers.”

“Your words, not mine.”

“I mean, your telepathy’s legit, and seeing the future, but apart from that they seem… vague.”

Aro shrugs.

“We do all have supernatural strength, speed, immortality, invulnerability…”

“All right, braggy,” Peter mutters.

“So I apologise if we do not have sufficiently impressive additional powers for you.”

Peter groans, and turns, shuffling down and burying his face in Lucian’s chest.

“He’s being difficult again,” he murmurs.

“You are both being difficult,” Lucian tells him, in an infuriatingly amused and fond tone.

“I-” Aro begins, as if to argue, then sighs, “I suppose we are, yes.”

“I know,” Lucian continues unhindered, “that the two of you enjoy arguing but… Could you wait until slightly later in the morning?”

“It’s past sunset,” Aro points out.

“Morning is a relative concept,” Peter says, and feels Lucian pull him tighter against himself, which he thinks might constitute agreement.

“But I agree,” he adds, “there could be better ways to spend our time.”

“Yes?” Aro asks, “like what?”

And Peter feels him against his back, a contrast to Lucian’s heat against his front. Peter shifts onto his back, the better to give access to both of his lovers, which they enthusiastically take. It has not escaped him that Aro did not come up with any superpower for him, but then, he hasn’t been able to think of one himself either. And he has tried. Aspirationally, he supposes, making people happy would fit. It is his job, after all, being an entertainer, but he has the sneaking suspicion that he isn’t terribly good at that when he’s off the stage. And he certainly isn’t good at looking to the future, or extraordinarily empathic. And hopefully not great at psychically tormenting people. He worries what it would say about him should that be it. No, it’s safer, probably, never to know. Saves him the disappointment of being turned only to realise he’s not special enough to get superpowers, too. He has an inkling his ego wouldn’t deal with that very well.

“Peter?”

“Yep. Uh. Thinking. Getting, uh, back to the matter at hand.”

The matter at hand being the two immortal beings kissing along his throat, fangs tantalisingly close. The hands roaming across his body from both sides, occasionally stopping, getting distracted by each other. Peter buries his hands in two heads of long dark hair, and lets himself be distracted from his frustrations.

Aro kisses him, long and deep. Peter runs his tongue over the sharp points of his fangs, moaning as he bites his lip, though careful not to break the skin. He feels Lucian kiss down his chest, swirling his tongue around a nipple, tugging on the stiffening bud with sharp teeth. Fuck, why are fangs so hot?

He pushes Aro over onto his back, moving to straddle him, kissing him again, and feeling his hard cock against him. Lucian follows, sitting up and tugging Peter into a kiss, distracting him wonderfully, and then cool fingers are stroking against his folds, dipping into the wetness gathering there. He moans into Lucian’s mouth, and thinks that one day he’s going to work himself up to having both of them inside him at the same time. Because it feels like there is an element of people taking turns, and that’s… odd, but difficult, in practise, to change.

Peter shifts back a little, because the ache inside him is growing insistent, lifting himself enough that Aro can guide his cock into him. The stretch of it is perfect, and he groans, stilling for a moment to let himself get used to it. Lucian turns his face with a clawed hand, pulling him into another kiss, soft and hot and sharp.

He starts to move, helped by Aro’s hands on his hips, the insistent thrusting back of the vampire, as Lucian moves down to kiss Aro instead, leaving Peter to concentrate. The vampire, though, clearly gets impatient, because soon he flips them, so Peter is on his back. He lies there, moving back against Aro, watching his two lovers kiss and caress each other, and fuck if that isn’t pretty hot too.

It isn’t long before Aro comes, and Peter follows shortly after, overwhelmed by the twin attentions of his boyfriends. He leaves the vampire to bask in the afterglow, and turns to Lucian, whose cock looks achingly hard still, red and straining. He strokes along the length of it as he kisses Lucian, who moans gratifyingly into his mouth. The lycan pulls away, moon pale eyes looking at him as if asking for permission. Peter, of course, nods.

Lucian flips him over onto his back, once more, clawed hands pinning Peter’s wrists above his head as he settles over him. There is something incredibly sexy about that. The slight hint of a threat it implies, the fact of being the one (or, at the very least, one of the ones) to make him almost lose control.

Lucian enters him, slowly, carefully, as if Peter isn’t dripping, as if he hasn’t just had Aro inside him. The two of them, in addition to having similar facial features, it turns out, also have nearly identical cocks. Which is. Huh. That is something. Not that Peter doesn’t have experience with both, of course, but he hasn’t quite noticed it before now.

Aro is watching them, golden eyes flicking between the two of them, and somehow that makes it better too. They aren’t, strangely, as inhuman as Lucian’s currently are. And it’s odd, because Lucian, despite his wolfy tendencies, very much feels like the more human of the two. Despite never having been one. Perhaps it’s that he is younger, or that he is slightly less invulnerable. Not perfectly frozen in time in the same way, still capable of change. Peter doesn’t know.

Lucian growls as he thrusts into Peter, who has a moment of near panic at the thought of how high in the sky the full moon must be now. What if Lucian truly does lose control, starts to transform while still inside Peter? That would be… painful and worrying. But no, that’s unlikely. Usually his transformations, however much aided by the moon, are entirely willing. He won’t. He probably won’t.

Peter comes before Lucian, already stimulated, the path to a second orgasm shorter than that to a first, and has a few moments to stare, dazed, into those inhuman eyes, who still watch him with such gentle love, even through the clear hunger in them.

Afterwards the three of them stay wrapped up in each other for a while, Peter nearly falling back asleep. He has a show in a little over two hours, but how can he be expected to move? How can he be expected to leave the two of them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the


	49. 2015: Proving Himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has feelings, which is relateable

The trouble with dating two immortals is the two immortals he has chosen to date. Well, them, and the career Peter has chosen to pursue. One of them, at least. Technically both of them centre on hunting vampires, but one in a slightly more practical way than the other. The thing is, Aro and Lucian both tend toward being very protective. They see Peter’s humanity as a weakness, and an unfortunate one. In Aro’s case, at any rate. And sure, yes, it does mean he’s more prone to death and injury, but Peter feels very firmly that these are strengths. They allow him to change, to improve, and to appreciate the time he has. Living life to its fullest. He has always had a live fast die young sort of outlook on life, largely because he never expected to have a choice, but the fact of his two lovers’ immortality has forced him to reflect more seriously on the subject.

“Been thinking about dying,” he announces.

“Again?” his therapist asks, and he grimaces at her.

She notes something down on her clipboard and he is very seriously beginning to suspect that this is a calculated move to manipulate his feelings rather than any actual record of their sessions.

“Well, yeah. Rather comes with the depression anxiety ptsd territory, doesn’t it? You should know that, shouldn’t you?”

He’s being childish, and they both know it, but he is feeling a lot of spite lately, and he doesn’t quite know what it is he wants to spite. It is just the general mood of him. Spite. In spite (hah) of him being supposed to be the happiest he has been in a long time. Or perhaps that is exactly why.

“Yes?” she says, to encourage him, and he resents it, this quiet, this pointed lack of judgement which feels all the judgier for it, making his own mind supply harsher versions of what he expects her to say.

“Yeah. Right. So I’ve been thinking. About how soon I’m going to die. How… I think I’ll feel guilty about leaving the both of them behind.”

“Your boyfriends?”

“Yeah.”

She scribbles more, and he fiddles with the clunky wolf’s head ring he wears, running the pad of his finger over the tiny metal fangs, along the tiny carved grooves of fur. He wants to get one to represent Aro too, but he is unsure what would work. A bat? Only Aro can’t turn into one, can he. A ruby in the shape of a blood drop? But that just underlines the thing about Aro that bothers him the most. A Volturi V, like Lucian has? But that’s his organisation, which doesn’t actually seem to be his anymore. Perhaps just a sparkly diamond, like his skin in the sun? But then, that doesn’t go with the rest of his jewellery at all. He’s got an aesthetic to keep up, after all.

They aren’t rings implying undying loyalty, they aren’t standing in for more traditional gold bands for any reason, but he likes having something with him to represent them. The wolf one he found online, and when he showed it to Lucian the lycan had pointed out it was a terrible likeness, but still seemed very touched. He even got a gold one, which was significantly more expensive, because the silver had seemed like a needlessly passive aggressive choice.

“Are you intending, at any time in the near future, to elaborate?” his therapist asks with a patience he can hear is wearing thin.

He has switched to the latest appointment time she has available, so he does understand she is waiting for her day to be over, but it’s not his fault. Not enough therapists are set up to handle nocturnal clients. And that’s what he is these days, even more than before. A creature of the night, almost as much as Aro and Lucian. That too is strange.

“Yeah. Sorry. I promise there are emotional narratives happening, they just don’t seem to make it out of my brain.”

“Always happy to be paid to facilitate introspection,” she jokes, “but do feel free to share. It is why you are here, after all.”

“Yep. Yeah. All right. It’s. It’s like this. I feel kind of… Powerless. Weak. Like I’m.. I’m the person in the relationship who needs protection, by the others. Like I’m not… Strong enough, I suppose.”

“In what way?”

This, of course, is a challenging question to answer honestly.

“I mean, partly literally, but. They’re both very protective of me, more so than it feels like they ever were of each other, and it makes me feel like… Like they’re not respecting me completely, y’know? Only they do, I know that but. It’s a little infantilising, kind of.”

She watches him carefully for a few moments, not scribbling at all, which is somehow worse.

“Is it because you’re trans, do you think?” She asks.

It’s a tentative question, and he respects that she, a, as far as he knows, cis woman, doesn’t bring it up much except when it really might be important. And it’s not, now, of course, that’s never been an issue with either of them. Lucian seemed to have worked it out very quickly, and Aro of course knows his entirely life, and has never mentioned it. But it might, perhaps, be useful as a metaphor for all the ridiculous supernatural shit.

“Might be,” he admits.

He runs a hand through his hair, which nearly reaches his shoulders now, and is becoming impossible to style, and feels less voluminous than he would like it to, but the use of a wig for his show is not the greatest incentive to take care of his actual hair.

“And I don’t mean it as in they don’t respect my identity, because they do, both of them. Never been an issue. But I do slightly feel like they think it means that they need to protect me, to take care of me somehow. And I- I suppose I get it, but I don’t like it, you know?”

“That’s understandable,” she tells him, nodding, “have you talked to them about it at all?”

He shrugs.

“Not really. Not properly.”

“Do you think doing so might help?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Yeees. Yeah. Probably it would. But it’s… Hard. It’s difficult to talk about these things with people who… Who don’t understand, can’t understand, not really. Because they don’t- They haven’t really been through anything similar.”

This is true in the strictest sense, although Aro was, of course, briefly human. And Peter has been human for almost as long as he has now, and that’s a scary thought. Becoming older than the two of them? Having them watch as he greys and wrinkles and decays? That’s not something he feels at all ready for. But neither, of course, is the alternative. He still doesn’t want that, doesn’t think he can deal with it. Eternity? Never ageing, never changing? Except, possibly, into a very large wolf? That’s scary.

“But it’s not really anything that I’m willing to change,” he continues, “not something I can change. And I know that they are protective because they care about me, and I do appreciate that, of course, but it… it’s hard, yeah?”

“I understand. But I do think you ought to talk about it with the two of them, I don’t think it will improve without you doing so.”

He squirms in his chair.

“You’re probably right,” he admits reluctantly.

“So we’re agreed? You try to talk with them about it before our next session?”

“Yep,” he says, with as little enthusiasm as he can muster.

-

Back home, after a brief stop at a bar to sulk (cut short after meeting a very enthusiastic fan, whom he had let buy him another drink and had then had to explain to that he was in fact in a committed relationship), he considers. He finds Aro and Lucian wrapped up in each other, talking softly in a language he can’t understand, and he leaves them to it. Just because they live together doesn’t mean all three of them have to be wrapped up in each other all the time.

He heads out into the hall, surveying his weaponry and the various artefacts he has collected. It all seems a bit wrong, now. Proudly displaying the traditional means of killing his two lovers’ kinds, however much it has been here since before he met them, before he knew better. It’s increasingly making him question everything around which he has built his identity. Because obviously some vampires are still bloodthirsty monsters with no respect for human life, and surely some werewolves too are like the ones in Hollywood movies, vicious monsters who only want to attack humans, however much it is not the wishes of their human counterparts. But it is making him reconsider. How can he hunt that which he loves? Although he supposes, much like humans, they have the capacity for both good and evil.

There is an ancient sword there, remarkably well preserved, which had, the seller had told him, been used to kill vampires in the sixteenth century. There are multiple holy weapons, blessed by saints or popes through the years, which as he is learning affects only a few strains of the vampire species. He wonders whether Aro and Lucian find it offensive, or whether it has been a part of this place for as long as they have known it, whether it just fades into the background. It must be odd for them too, dating not just a human, but a hunter. One dedicated, at least once, to the eradication of their respective species. It’s certainly making him uncomfortable these days.

He settles in his room with his laptop, searching for new suspicious deaths or disappearances. Lucian, despite being from the dark ages, is better at this particular research than he is, but he has learnt some things in the last few years. It has been a while since they were out on a hunt. It’s only once or twice after they all got together, and Peter sort of misses it. Not the actual part of it, not the stabbing and fighting and killing and worrying that his boyfriends will get hurt in the crossfire, or that he will, but he misses how it makes him _feel._ Like he is doing something important. Making a difference. Making the world a better, or at least safer place.

There is one area, he finds, where a couple of young women have disappeared. The time between them having gone missing is a week, which he’s pretty sure means it’s only likely to be the single vampire. It’s within a few miles of each other, and they’ve all disappeared while heading home from work or school, late at night. There has only been one body, but that was the first one, and there was damage to her throat. Like it had been ripped out by wild dogs, one reporter describes it. Which sounds promising. Not for the victims, of course, but for him.

It is the exact opposite of what his therapist suggested he do, of course. Taking matter into his own hands instead of actually having a proper conversation about it. He can’t go tonight, but perhaps tomorrow. Just leave after his show. Send them a text saying he’s going out with his cast mates or something. He doesn’t like lying to them, but this isn’t about them. This is about him proving to himself that he doesn’t need them to protect him. That he can take care of himself. That he is a vampire hunter in his own right. And he doesn’t think they would let him. Not, again, because they do not respect him, but out of worry. Always out of worry. Like he’s some fragile creature, some mayfly.

He joins them in the living room after an hour or so, giving them the space to keep talking. He puts an old horror film (about mummies. No passive aggressive anti monster thing here, although it’s probably pretty racist in its handling of Egyptian culture) and does some of his social media promotion work on his phone. Occasionally he will lean over to touch them, kiss them, whenever they are being particularly tempting. Also as a positive reinforcement, because they’ve had the courtesy to switch back to English now that he is here, and that’s the sort of behaviour he likes to encourage. At least until they can manage to teach him some more. Maybe one day.


	50. 2015: Rough Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's plan to prove himself an independent and strong vampire hunter who doesn't need the help of his superpowered immortal boyfriends doesn't go entirely as he had planned.

Peter wakes up on the floor. It's not his own floor, which is worrying, but old and filthy linoleum masquerading as real wood, sticky with unknown substances that give the air a deeply unpleasant quality. It's not dark any more, which isn't reassuring either. Across the room from him light streams in through the corner of a window, what parts of it aren't completely covered in cardboard, but it is faint and a soft hue, indicating dawn. But it had been only a little past midnight when he got here, hadn't it? How long has he been out?

He pushes himself up into a sitting position, glancing at the human shaped pile of dust laying next to him. If he's been on the floor a couple of hours he feels like his back ought to be complaining more, but perhaps he fell strategically comfortably. Or maybe those hippies who think people ought to sleep on floors for their health are right.

Patting his pockets he pulls out his phone, but evidently he's landed on it, because the screen is cracked and it won't turn on. Might be the battery, though. He feels a stab of guilt at the amount of missed calls he probably has lurking in there. Although, well, Lucian at least is used to his coming home late on the few occasions he does go out these days. Probably they're not even worried that much. It's fine.

Perhaps, he thinks, he should take stock. And then get some breakfast, he adds to his mental to-do list as his stomach grumbles angrily.

-

Peter had gone to do his show last night, as usual. Kissed his boyfriends goodbye, and arrived in the make up chair fifteen minutes late with a few new marks to cover up. It had gone fine, although there had been a minor mishap with the pyrotechnics. Again. He has been debating asking the producers to get a new special effects guy, but the current one is dating the head prop lady, and she scares the shit out of him, so he hasn't made any moves so far. Besides, it's happened often enough that he and the girls playing his vampires know how to play it off. Some extra drama. All good.

After, he had gone and changed into some sweats he keeps stashed in his dressing room, allowed himself a single beer, and texted Lucian not to wait up, followed by a complex string of emojis it would probably take the two of them the rest of the night and a lot of googling to decipher. 

The drive out to the neighbourhood he had narrowed it down to had been quite long, an hour and a half or so, some tiny town out beyond the suburbs, where the houses could sprawl out more, aiding in the failure to be discovered by nosy neighbours. He had parked by the petrol station, went in to buy some cigarettes, and wandered the right area, smoking, carrying the deliberately tired looking backpack and hoping he looked for all the world like just some homeless person, no one of note. He was only slightly hindered in this by his choice of pristine designer sweats. But in the dim light of street lamps it was hardly visible, and there was probably no one watching all that closely.

The house he settled on was dark, with a neglected excuse for a garden, all dry and wilted, with what Peter was only after close inspection able to identify as an incredibly filthy and punctured basketball as the only sign of use. It wasn't conspicuously run down. They rarely are. That leads to people asking questions, or, even worse, urban explorers or people needing locations for post apocalyptic photo shoots or something. No, looking like someone was on a long vacation, that was the ideal level of abandonment for undercover vamps. Sneaking out, always have a back entrance. Ideally somewhere with a basement, somewhere subterranean. There isn't anything like that here, but what he had thought from the outside were bad curtains he has come to realise are in fact ripped open cardboard boxes crudely ducttaped over the windows from the inside. Sun proof. Almost, anyway.

He had gotten his stakes out, donned a few crucifix necklaces, and sprayed himself with some holy water (A spray bottle is _practical_ , okay? Looking at you, Aro). He got his short sword out, and lamented the lack of belt to stick it into. Probably, he remembers it having occurred to him at this point, there is a reason he usually doesn't do this alone any more. He needs an external source to remind him of the things his dumb brain forgets.

The house, when he entered had been surprisingly nice. Couldn't have been abandoned long before the vampire found it. Or perhaps it had been theirs all along. He had waited until he saw a dark shape sneak out from behind the house before he went in. Laying a trap, he had reasoned, was better than just barging in there, especially when he was alone.

There was dust in the house, but it was furnished as if by a human, with a pair of sad bedrooms, a cramped living room with a sofa configuration that seemed to be set up purely to be as inconvenient as possible. He opened the fridge to look, and clearly it had been a while since anyone else had, because everything inside it had grown small ecosystems of mould. Wrinkling his nose he closed it right back up.

Peter was not able to find any indication of a basement, so he chose what seemed to be the least dusty bedroom as the probable nest of the vampire. There were blood spots on the floor, and the bed seemed vaguely messy, as if it might have been used. Yeah, this seemed right. The opened book on the night stand wasn't dusty, so it was clear someone hung out in here. 

Peter had started, he thinks, to set up, when the vampire came back. He hadn't heard it, even as quiet as he was, as careful he was to stop every few minutes to listen. But it was the creak of the bedroom door that did it. Not even supernatural spooky sneaky skills can make a squeaky door un-squeak. So he had whirled around, grabbing the sword from where it lay on the bed. The big chunky piece of furniture was between them, giving them a moment to stare wide eyed at each other.

The vampire was a woman who looked to be about his age, with distinct undead soccer mom vibes. White, regrettable hair with worse high lights, unsettling yellow eyes and fangs that showed when she snarled at him. There was no blood around her mouth, so he was forced to come to the depressing conclusion that she had watched him, and snuck out specifically so she could trap him, rather than the other way around. Which, unfair.

It wasn’t a long fight. He kicked a holy water balloon at her, which did no damage at all, and she had lunged across the bed, got her foot caught on something, and fallen, knocking him down too. They had wrestled, briefly, and she had managed to kick his sword out of his hand, but he had come out on top, eventually, managing to grab a stake from his bag, and driving it into her chest.

There had been no poof of dust, but rather a slow crumbling. Her body twitching on the floor as it gradually seemed to shrivel, as if burned by an invisible flame, the effect spreading out from the wooden stake in her heart. He had gotten to his feet, and watched the process, which in hindsight was a bad choice, because that was when something fell from the ceiling, from a hatch he hadn’t originally noticed, knocking him to the ground.

-

Peter rubs his head, but there doesn’t seem to be any bruising, which is odd. He would have thought his head would feel like death now, but there’s nothing. Rolling his neck, though, there is definitely something off. A stretching sharp feeling which- oh no. 

He scrambles to his feet and hurries out the door and into the adjacent bathroom, slapping the light switch on. The overhead light flickers, but is enough illumination to show that he does at least have a reflection still. That’s a good sign. But there is a mess of blood on the side of his neck, dry and cracking with his every movement. Okay. Deep breaths. Calm thoughts. Aro had fed from him, right? And that had been no trouble. No risk of turning. Perhaps this is the same? The vampire who attacked him realised he wasn’t big enough a threat to bother killing, just stopped for a snack before they left. Yeah. Yeah? Yeah. 

Peter leans in close to the mirror, tugging at his lower eyelids, staring at his irises, trying to see if there is any change. The vampire he fought had had yellow eyes, but his are still brown. Or is that speck a little lighter? He can’t tell. Baring his teeth he confirms that there are no fangs; his canines don’t even feel any sharper when he runs his tongue over them. Good, right? He looks pale, but that’s probably the blood loss. The crucifix around his neck doesn’t burn. No. Still human? Still human. Good. Good. His stomach rumbles again, more insistently. 

Back in the bedroom he tears the cardboard down from the window, allowing the early morning sun to stream in. It doesn’t burn. He doesn’t feel good, exactly, but he chalks that down to having lost some blood and spent a couple of hours unconscious on the floor. Also he’s never really been a morning person. It’s making his eyes water a bit, so he steps back. Okay. Get home. Next task. But he is so hungry, despite not usually being a breakfast person. He wonders if there’s drinkable coffee here. Maybe some leftover energy bars from whoever used to live here.

In the living room he finds a charger that goes with his phone, and plugs it in. He tries to turn it on but it just stubbornly indicates that it is charging and will allow itself to be turned on when it’s good and ready, thank you very much. Abandoning it for now he goes into the kitchen, and rummages through cupboards for something vaguely edible. He settles on a can of chickpeas, which doesn’t sound like anything he wants, but beats any of the other options. Cracks it open, pours out the aqua faba, gets a spoon.

It doesn’t taste great. He finds some salt and pepper, but those too help far less than they should. More, though, despite his managing through a grimace to devour half the can, it doesn’t satisfy. All the way through his stomach keeps complaining. So he finishes it, and for a few minutes, he feels okay. But then his stomach starts to feel weird. His throat, too, like a tiny hand reaching down and clawing at the inside of his stomach. He barely makes it to the sink.

All right. Fine. He had a bad night, he hasn’t had his meds, maybe that’s it. Annoying, but fine. He rinses his mouth with too warm water. His stomach growls.

“Shut up, you,” he mutters at it, and tries his phone again. 

Nothing. Just the passive aggressive lighting up of a picture of a battery. He could hop in his car right now, drive straight home. But he wants to call first, to reassure Lucian and Aro that he’s all right. He’s fine. He’s just… He made a bad choice, yeah?

Again his stomach complains, and fuck, what is this? He’s never this hungry in the mornings. Or this awake. Another, less hopeful rummage through the shelves yields a tin of tuna. Not his favourite, but probably edible. The fish too tastes wrong. He can’t describe it properly, it’s not like it’s gone off, exactly, it’s just… It feels hollow. He ends up throwing that up too, five minutes later. He feels unsettled.

When he had washed off the blood on his neck he had seen that the wound was open, which he had taken as a good sign. No sudden appearance of healing powers usually was. Although, of course, not all vampires heal immediately. Shit. Dread joins the hunger and nausea fighting for control of his stomach, and he runs his fingers over the bite mark once more. Still hurts. Good. Checks his canines again with the pad of his thumb. Do they feel sharper? He can’t tell. He checks his phone. Nothing.

To calm himself, to reassure himself that nothing is wrong, he goes outside. Sits down on the steps leading up to the door. Squints against the brightness of the morning. His eyes start watering again. It’s a surprisingly comfortable morning. It had been quite chilly last night, and he would have expected it to be colder out, this early. Perhaps the sun just works fast. He lights a cigarette, closing his eyes as he inhales. He feels more tired, now, sitting here. It’s the night he’s had catching up on him. Sometimes he’ll wake up alert and not get tired until an hour later, once he stops moving for a bit. 

His hands are starting to itch. His face, too. Maybe there’s something here he’s allergic to, some new thing he hasn’t been exposed to before? He rubs at the skin, but that just makes it worse. It’s looking slightly red, now. He pushes his sleeve up, but it doesn’t seem to be affecting anything but the exposed skin. Odd. There’s a noise from inside, indicating his phone is finally cooperating. He goes back into the living room, and pointedly does not think about the slight relief it is to be out of the sun.

It takes a few minutes to get his phone to turn on properly, and even then something is wrong. For one it claims it’s the seventeenth today, which has to be wrong, because last night, his show, was on the fifteenth. He can’t have been unconscious for a full day and a half, can he? Then he would almost certainly be feeling significantly worse. A few moments later, as his phone connects properly to networks and such, it starts pinging aggressively. 67 texts. 29 missed calls. That’s.. That’s bad.

There’s a few messages from his personal assistant, asking where he is, informing him he’s missed a show. A couple from a few of the cast girls, who wonder why they were alibis, and would he leave them out of his weird secret schemes the next time. And then the rest are all from Lucian and Aro, going from check ins, asking if he’s having a good time, and when does he think he’s coming back, to more worried ones, then more frantic pleas to let them know where he is, what has happened. Fuck. So maybe he has been out for over a day. Okay. Not… a great sign. 

He calls Lucian, who picks up on the first ring.

“Peter?” 

He sounds breathless, worried, relieved.

“Yup. I’m good. I’m probably good. Just. Some stuff happened. Phone died.”

“Why did you-”

“Look,” he interrupts, “just wanted to let you know I’m fine. Gonna drive back home now, okay? See you in an hour and a bit. Love you.”

He hangs up before Lucian has the chance to yell at him. To berate him for being wildly irresponsible and self destructive. He knows it’s coming and he knows he’s earned it. 

Peter feels kind of shitty still, but it makes sense. Whole day without food, no wonder he’s starving. And no wonder eating a bunch of stuff at once makes him sick. He must be wildly dehydrated too, so he tries a little bit of water. This, at least, stays down. Fine. He’ll stop at starbucks on the way or something. Or maybe wait until he gets home. Just in case he has to puke again. Less terrible if he’s somewhere where he can just crawl into the shower and have Lucian and Aro feel too sorry for him to be angry. Yeah, actually, that sounds like the best plan. Abuse their pity. Excellent. He grabs his things, and heads out, in the direction he’s pretty sure he parked the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	51. 2015: Show Everybody Exactly Who You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has a really Bad Time

Dread starts to creep in as Peter drives homewards. He’s put his hood up, and dragged the sleeves of his jumper down so he can put his thumbs through the (very home made) thumb holes, both without thinking. It’s the same with the sunglasses perched on his nose. Some instinct leading him to covering up as much as he can, even here, even inside the car. It doesn’t help with the dread. Neither does blasting music loud enough that he can’t think.

He parks down below his building, and as much as he’d driven as fast as he could to get here, he stays in his seat for a while. Throughout the drive he’s been checking his teeth, trying to feel whether they’ve gotten sharper. He’s pretty sure there hasn’t been any change, except when he’s utterly convinced they’re proper fangs. It goes back and forth.

 _Aro:_ Will you be arriving soon, Peter? Lucian is very anxious for you to return.

Which is. Sort of sweet. As is the worry and care inherent in the 63 other texts he has been skimming through while sitting here. At least his building’s too tall for the two of them to be able to hear him down here. Probably. Right? Shit.

In the lift he considers leaving, just going somewhere, fucking off. Because, thing is, if he never confronts it, then it’s not real. He’s fine. He will be fine. But he can’t do that, now. He cares to much about these old weird immortal monsters. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

The doors slide open with a too loud ding, and he steps into his increasingly ironic hall of vampire murder instruments. Lucian and Aro are waiting for him, and again his instinct is to run, to hide, but it’s too late now. He watches them look at him, silently. Sees them take in the blood on his clothes, the wound on his neck. It’s quiet, too quiet, and he has a sneaking suspicion what that might mean. And it’s not good. Lucian looks quietly sad, and Aro as if he is concealing the warring delight and upset in him. Which makes sense. But that’s it then.

He’s dead. 

“Peter-”

-

“Do you think he is attempting to drown himself?”

“I don’t think he can.”

Peter hears the voices, distorted through water, through a layer of wall. His hearing is better than it used to be, and he hates it. He looks up through the swirling water, black with little specks of biodegradable glitter. It fit, he thought, the aesthetic. He’s been down here for ten minutes now, and he still hasn’t needed to go up for air. Probably could stay down here forever.

It’s been a few hours since he got home, now, and he’s had to escape in here. To deal, he told them, to process. Which was a lie, because there is nothing inside him. He’s just a void, now. Soulless, maybe. If souls are a thing. But that’s what it feels like. His body dead but never decaying. Are his teeth sharper yet? They feel sharper. Maybe his eyes have gone yellow, too, creepy and inhuman, and not even pretty, like Aro’s golden ones. He doesn’t even get to be a beautiful corpse. That’s shit.

-

“Hi guys,” he manages, and it sounds weird and strangled even to himself, the forced cheerfulness somehow grotesque.

“Peter,” Aro says, and he is trying so very hard to be kind, to dull down the excitement Peter can feel radiating from him.

He does appreciate it, on some abstract level, the one where rational thoughts are happening. Not quite accessible, not right now.

“What happened?” Lucian asks, voice so very kind and soft and sad, so much so it puts deep cracks in Peter’s forced resolve.

“Just. Stuff. Went to hunt a vampire. Y’know, wanted to see if I’d still got it, without you two kill stealing. Got her, too, but then- Well. Got knocked out. Must have been a second one. But you know. All good. Just- Just gnawed on me a bit, but I’m fine.”

“Peter,” Lucian says, approaching ever so slowly, like he’s afraid Peter’s gonna bolt, which is still a reasonable worry at this point, “you- your heart isn’t-”

“Heart’s fine. Got to be. I’m fine. Just. Just this bite wound. Because the sun doesn’t hurt and my teeth aren’t sharp and my eyes are still normal, so there can’t be anything wrong.”

He can’t feel his pulse. Can he normally feel his pulse? Sometimes. He’s still breathing, isn’t he, so it’s got to be fine. He’s hungry, too, starving now, and isn’t that a sign of life? Of health?

Aro too is approaching, and isn’t it ironic that now he feels a prey encircled by two predators? Now that he no longer-

-

He bursts through to the surface and gasps in a breath. It feels good, air, however much it clearly is of less import than it used to be. Spits out a piece of glitter, and hears the muffled voices outside go quiet. Like he’ll break. All this, and they don’t even think him less fragile, less a thing that needs protection, even for himself.

The water has gone cold, he thinks, but it doesn’t bother him. He can still tell, but it seems less urgent, now, less like something relevant to him at all. He flicks his too long too wet hair out of his eyes, and climbs out of the bathtub, pulling the plug. Towels himself off and puts on a robe. Examines his eyes and teeth in the mirror. Is that a lighter speck? He’s not sure. Is that tooth a little sharper? He has been checking constantly, but it’s hard to tell if there is any difference.

God he’s so fucking hungry. His stomach is filled with sharp spikes of pain, stabbing out a Morse code, which he’s pretty sure would translate into a chant of _blood_. Aro had tried to tell him that he needed to eat, to have some blood. It’s not like they don’t have an entire mini fridge dedicated to the stuff these days. But that would mean admitting it’s true, that would mean facing it, instead of floating, numb.

-

Almost against his will he is gently guided into the living room, and Lucian quickly draws the dark curtains, which elicits a choked sob from Peter. Perhaps it gets worse? Perhaps one day he will catch on fire at the slightest touch of the sun’s rays.   
He tells the two of them what happened, but he isn’t there, his mind is floating in some cloud of protective dissociation, where none of this is happening. Lucian is angry, he can tell, at Peter for getting himself hurt, for going out on his own, but he hasn’t said anything about it. There will be time for that, probably, later. When Peter is more present for it. Aro, though, seems almost relieved. As if he he secretly (correctly) believes that Peter would never have allowed either of them to bite him, and now that problem is neatly sorted out without anyone other than a random vampire being to blame. How convenient. He doesn’t say so, of course. Makes every effort to be sympathetic, to mimic whatever Lucian is saying and doing. Peter tries to resent him for it, but he can’t quite manage.

-

The door opens a sliver, and a mug of hot blood is placed on the tile floor before the door slides softly closed again. Peter doesn’t see which of them it is, and he isn’t sure whether it matters. What is he gonna do with that, anyway? He slips on a thin robe, the bathroom still warm with trapped steam, and tries to mess up his hair into something that looks at least vaguely purposeful. If he’s dead, does that mean his hair will no longer grow? Or that it will grow out instantly to this exact length, whatever he does. If that is the case he supposes he can no longer blame the vampire quite so much for her abhorrent hair choices.

“Fuck,” he mutters, abandoning the hair. 

It never seems to cooperate these days, and it’s getting hard to concentrate, what with the scent of the blood drawing him in. He feels like a fucking cartoon character, floating helplessly towards the scent lines. It doesn’t smell good, not exactly. Because it smells like blood, and though he is intimately familiar with that scent, it doesn’t remind him of food. Still, he finds himself craving it, needing it. It’s sickening how much the thought fails to bother him. Blood. Actual blood. He’s been watching Aro drink it for months now, of course, and he knows it’s not human, but still. He even knows that there are humans who eat it, although not, of course, on it’s own.

He takes a step closer. Lifts the mug to his face. It’s the one that says _World’s Best Vampire Slayer_ in a bad approximation of the Buffy font. Aro, then. He tilts it, darts out his tongue to taste it. Fuck. It doesn’t taste good. It tastes like his own blood does, like something that isn’t meant to be consumed, and yet- He throws the whole mug into the bathtub, where it shatters, mixing with the last dregs of bathwater. Shivers. Runs his tongue over his canines again, and shit. He is pretty sure they’re longer, now. And sharper. He checks the mirror again, and there they are. Fangs. Fucking fangs. The inner part of his irises too are looking distinctly yellow, lighter than the surrounding brown. Fuck. Fuck. Maybe it goes away? Maybe he just goes a bit vampiric at the presence of blood? Gotta blend in, right? Gotta look human enough to actually lure the humans in, otherwise, how is a man to eat? Please let them go away.

-

“I’m going to walk into the sun,” Peter announces, despite the fact it won’t hurt him, “I’m going to dive into a pool of holy water. Eat a whole thing of garlic. I am going to light myself on fire.”

He is laying on the floor, staring up at the dark ceiling above. Lucian and Aro wait nervously, hovering and worried they will somehow make him do anything even more self destructive than what he is already planning.

“I’m going to throw myself on a stake, make a wooden spike pit trap for myself and crumble into dust.”

Lucian can’t help but growl at that, and Peter considers that for once in his life, there are people who might genuinely regret his absence from this world. Especially Lucian, who has already had a loved one die in that exact manner. Can he do that to him again? Does he even have a choice? Because he can’t live like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got a sense this isn't what people want but ive stopped writing this fic for anyone else than myself at this point so. Shrug emoji.


	52. 2015: I Am The Living Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter struggles with coming to terms with what this all means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, there's some suicidal ideation in this one, so if that bothers you, maybe wait till the next one.

One surprisingly nice thing about being undead, a single light in this very literal eternal darkness, is how Aro feels now. It had taken him a little while to notice, as the vampire generally wore layers upon layers of cloth, and Peter hadn’t really been in the mood for kissing, what with his being turned into the monster he most hated and all that. So he had noticed it first, when he felt a soft, warm kiss to his cheek, and had turned his face expecting to see Lucian, but had instead been faced with Aro.

“You- wait. What?” he had asked, confused.

“Is something the matter?”

Peter had rested the palm of his hand on Aro’s cheek, and felt- warmth. Felt the slightly softer than usual give of the vampire’s flesh. It felt, now, like touching someone living. It was nearly as unsettling as his cold skin had been in the beginning.

“You feel all… Warm.”

“Yes,” Aro had agreed, “we do, to other vampires. I had thought, originally, that it perhaps might only be true for those of my kind, but it seems it holds true with whatever strain you now are, too.”

And that had been upsetting. Being thought of as a vampire, a specific kind. Once again that just made it feel so horrifically real.

“Do… Do I?”

Aro looked at him, with compassion in his golden eyes, and softly shook his head.

“No.”

-

Peter stands on the roof, amid various vents and devices, his arms spread out, his face lifted to the sun. He isn’t wearing a shirt, but he has put on sunglasses for this little experiment, proper ones with UV protection, because he needs his eyes, than you very much, even if they’re a deep and creepy yellow now, inhuman and gross. He has ordered brown contact lenses, but they’ve not arrived yet. 

“How does it feel?”

Aro and Lucian are both sat on the dusty floor, watching him, and they’ve even got one of Aro’s cloaks to throw over him should it go badly. Aro is terribly covered up, in case someone should find them up here, and he barely glitters at all. Which is a shame. It’s an equally ridiculous and beautiful effect.

“Bit hot,” he replies, squinting even behind his glasses.

He has been at it for about ten minutes now, and his arms are starting to hurt from standing like this. Isn’t he meant to be in better shape or whatever, now he’s dead? So he sighs, and lies down on his back, the concrete rough and dry against his back. Lucian sighs, and there is a rustling of cloth, and then Peter’s head is lifted up, and a folded shirt place under it. Which is nicer, Peter has to admit.

“Thanks.”

His teeth never changed back, never retreated after that first time. They’re still sharp and conspicuously vampiric. He wonders whether he could file them down, make them a bit less obvious. More difficult to hide than his eyes. Earlier he had called a doctor who owed him a favour, and bribed her to write out something plausible and medical that would let him have two weeks off. To hide. To work out what the fuck he is going to do about everything. He has thought about changing up the story. Having his character tragically succumb to the bite of a vampire. Some excuse. He could probably pull that off for a while, and he is getting to the point of needing to change something, anyway, to keep the show from getting stale. He is pretty sure that he seems like the sort of person who would believably start wearing fake fangs all the time, just to keep up the aesthetic.

“You look a bit… red,” Aro points out helpfully, dragging Peter back to the moment, back to the feeling of his skin burning and starting to crack. 

Fifteen minutes? Something like that. It’s like a really really bad sunburn, now. Outer layers of skin starting to peel. He probably looks super gross. But hopefully he will heal. He had checked earlier, cutting a thin line into his arm. It had hurt as much as it usually did, but it had healed completely within a half hour or so, and so he is fairly certain that there are some vampiric healing abilities in him somewhere, if not as potent as Lucian or Aro. Perhaps that comes with age.

“Yep, thanks. I can feel that,” he replies, wincing as he shifts.

He is fairly certain he’s never had sunburnt armpits before, and he’s not a fan.

-

He manages to go two full days before he succumbs, before he has to lower himself to drinking blood properly. It’s rough. There is a lot of writhing on the floor in pain, and he at one point locks himself in his safe room for ten hours, just to force himself to avoid it for as long as he can, as he sense the yawning maw in his stomach open even wider, like a black hole sucking all energy from him. He keeps trying to eat human food for a while, but he can’t keep anything that’s not liquid down, and it doesn’t make him feel better at all.

When it is time, at last, when he can no longer avoid it, he accepts the mug Aro presses into his hands. It’s a travel mug, kindly, so he can’t see what he’s drinking, so he can’t pretend it is literally anything other than what it is. The heat of it, leaking into his now perpetually cold hands, feels like life itself, like it is all he could ever need. It keeps feeling like that when he closes his eyes and drinks, when he intends only to take a small sip, but finds he cannot stop before the mug is empty, when he finds himself screwing it open to lick at the sides of the mug as far as his tongue reaches. It should make him feel nauseous, but it horribly doesn’t. It gives him energy, it makes him feel amazing, makes him finally feel less like the walking corpse that he very much is. He hates it.

Aro is pleased, of course, that he is finally adapting, and Lucian is too. Relieved that Peter is showing some sign of trying to stay alive. Or undead, at any rate. Less worried he’s going to kill himself, Peter suspects, though he doesn’t know that they are right. After all, Lucian and Aro would still have each other. They have had each other for so very much longer than they have had Peter. They will get over it, won’t they? It may take a while, but they will. Yes, admittedly, Lucian still grieves for his Sonja, but they had nearly two centuries together. Or, not together together, but. But still. He knew her for a quarter of his long long life. His and Lucian’s two and a half years are nothing. Hell, Peter was with Ginger for what? Five years? And though he sometimes will catch sight of something of hers, or something she got for her, and feel melancholy, he is pretty much over it, and that’s only four years ago. Granted, all the other shit in his life has been an excellent distraction from whatever grief might have lingered, but still.

He isn’t going to off himself quite yet, though. He has a few things he needs to find out first. Most importantly, what exactly sort of a monster is it he has become? Can he feel safe that he won’t hurt a human? Can he successfully exact revenge on the miserable piece of shit who destroyed his life? Can he, like the last time-

-

He lasts all of twenty-five minutes before his torso is an open wound and he is writhing in pain, and Lucian covers him in Aro’s cloak and carries him back inside. That’s it, then. About eight minutes before he actually starts showing the sun damage, another seventeen or so before it is incredibly obvious that something is going on, before he cannot function. Everything covered by clothes, though, if uncomfortable seems mostly unharmed. He will have to do experiments with overcast days, with keeping his head in the shade, with gloves and heavy hoods. He might be able to at least occasionally, briefly, see the world in daylight.

Peter lets Lucian deposit him on their bed, and gently apply a thick layer of aloe vera gel to all the damaged skin. It feels a little nice, being cared for, although not enough to make up for the searing pain in the damaged skin. The sun damage doesn’t heal like a normal cut did. Maybe it truly is his enemy. It reminds him a little of the shock of moving to Vegas the first time, where the sun is a lot stronger than anywhere he had ever lived. He never got as bad as this back then, but he learnt the power of sunblock very quickly. Hmm. Could that protect him now too? It’s worth investigating.

“How do you feel?” Lucian asks, pressing a kiss to Peter’s palm, one of the few pieces of undamaged skin.

“Like barbecue,” Peter mutters.

Lucian lays down next to him, and Peter can see pieces of his hair sticking to each other with gel. He is beautiful. He is always beautiful, but these days there’s something about the life in him, the fact that Peter can hear the faint beating of his heart now, can hear the blood flowing through his veins- That’s weird. That’s creepy. Focus on the right things. Elegant nose. Incongruously pretty mouth. Gentle eyes that seem to shift colours depending on the light. Currently a slate grey with warm golden hints, just around his pupil. Bags under his eyes that would indicate he has not, in fact, gotten a moment of sleep since the middle ages. 

“I meant-”

“I know. Sorry. Not great, you know. I know- I know it’s my own fault.”

He closes his eyes. Focuses on the fact he can smell a hint of wolf on Lucian, always, mingling with the more normal human scents, with the stench of burnt skin.

“Peter-”

“It is. I get it. And- And I don’t need you to tell me, I already feel horrible enough. Turning into- Into fucking this, it’s all the punishment I need, believe me.”

“Not what I was going to say, Peter, and you know it. Don’t project your anger at yourself onto me. That’s not fair to either of us. I am not angry at you. I understand why you felt you needed to, even… Even if I wish you hadn’t.”

Peter’s eyes remain closed, but he can feel the soft warmth of Lucian’s breath again his gel slathered skin. The way the bed dips a little as he shifts closer. Reassuring.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, “you’re right.”

“I love you, Peter. I love you no matter what you are, and- and I feel terrible for you. I know how much the thought of this has scared you, and… I can’t imagine how terrifying and upsetting this must be for you, but I love you, just the same. And yes, I would be lying if I pretended that some part of me isn’t… Isn’t a little relieved that I won’t lose you to the ravages of age in a few short decades-”

“Oi. How old do you think I am?”

Peter can almost hear Lucian’s smile.

“I love you, Peter, but your self preservation skills are… Well.”

Peter shrugs, then winces at how the motion pulls at ruined skin.

“Harsh. Harsh, but fair.”

“I know, though,” he adds, “and thanks for not being as obvious about it as Aro. That, if I’m honest, that almost makes it worse. Knowing this is what you two wanted. That’s that solved. I won’t get old and wrinkly and shit.”

“You know your appearance wasn’t the worry.”

“Do I?” 

He shifts, propping himself up on an elbow and instantly regretting it, his fangs gritted- His fangs. God this is fucked up. His boyfriends having them is one thing, but himself? That’s just creepy. Horrible. A reminder of his ever increasing monstrosity. 

“You two look forever young, you saying it wouldn’t have bothered you, me eventually looking old enough to be your dad?”

“I would have been strange,” Lucian agrees, “but my worry was always losing you.”

“And now you can’t,” Peter spits, “how convenient.”

Lucian, to his credit, looks heartbroken at Peter’s anger, and regret wells up in him, but he doesn’t apologise. Perhaps it’s this new monstrosity, this new evil in him. So he stands up, and presses a soft kiss to the top of Peter’s head.

“I’ll let you rest, Peter.”

Peter makes a face at his retreating back, then lets himself fall back down, groaning with the pain. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Maybe if he manages to stay. If he shackles himself to something, out in the sun, in the desert. If he waits long enough in the sun, perhaps it will burn him away, until there is nothing left but ashes and bones.


	53. 2015: Pleas for Redemption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter does some soul searching.

**Peter:** I need you to kill me.

 **Charley:** I’m sorry? Who is this?

 **Peter:** Peter

 **Charley:** From SOC4305? The test isn’t until Monday, it’s fine.

 **Peter:** What? No, Peter Vincent! Vampire slayer extraordinaire! Keep up, mate.

 **Charley:** Oh. It’s been four years. What’s up?

 **Peter:** Told you! Need you to kill me.

 **Charley:** What’s going on?

 **Peter:** literally do not think I could be any clearer here. You. Kill. Me. Now.

 **Peter:** Please.

-

“I’m worried about him,” Lucian says, sitting down on the arm rest of Aro’s chair and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Yes,” Aro says, “I’ve gathered. But the first year is always rough. You’re consumed by bloodlust, torn apart and reformed as your entire body is destroyed from within and then rebuilt. Your powers overwhelming you. We just need to let him run amok for a while, massacre some villages. It will do him good, and then he’ll calm down.”

“What? Are you- you know he isn’t the same- was that what you did?”

“It was.”

Lucian slides down until he is sitting in Aro’s lap, displacing his book onto the floor. Aro looks at it, and then Lucian, and seems to decide that his lover wins out, because he snakes an arm around Lucian to pull him close. 

“What was it like?”

Aro shrugs. Lucian brushes his hair from his face, but those golden eyes won’t meet his, not quite. 

“It is not,” he replies after a moment, “something I would wish for Peter to have to go through. Not knowing him.”

Lucian smiles with relief, taking Aro’s hand in his and kissing his knuckles. Then he leans down, resting his head on the vampire’s shoulder.

“Do you recognise the kind of vampire he is becoming?”

He tangles his fingers in Aro’s perfect hair as he waits for an answer. It always feels soft, always smells nice, and Lucian finds himself wondering, not for the first time, whether this is due to Aro’s nature or simply thorough grooming. He hasn’t dared ask, because if it’s Aro’s grooming then Lucian worries about the implications of the state of his own hair.

“Not quite. Yellow eyes, perpetual fangs, the apparent slight resistance to sunlight, despite clearly being weakened by it? Most who are affected by the sun in a negative way will perish almost instantly.”

“Are you disappointed that he is not like you? That he doesn’t quite shine as brightly?”

Aro laughs.

“A little,” he adds, “of course. Much as I assume you are that you also did not get to make him a lycan. He would have made a good member of either of our species, I feel.”

Lucian nods, twining his fingers around Aro’s cool ones, watching the vampire rub a thumb over the worn gold of the Volturi ring the lycan still wears. 

“I think so,” he agrees, “he would have enjoyed sparkling in the sun, I think. I don’t know how he would have felt about turning.”

“He would have appreciated not having to drink blood, everything else is secondary.”

“I suppose.”

He has so missed this closeness to Aro, but at the same time it is very different from what it used to be. For one thing they’ve never been together this long before. The most it used to be was a few weeks, maybe a month if they were lucky, but now they have lived together for nearly ten months. Not properly together all the time, of course, that only the last two or so, but still. It’s a lot more simultaneous time than ever before.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?”

Aro looks at him, eyes soft, a careful smile on his lips.

“Probably. He has been through a lot, you know. Worse trauma than this, and he has made it so far.”

“I suppose you would know,” Lucian sighs.

He feels a cool palm against his cheek. Leans into it.

“Do you want..?” 

Lucian lets the question hang unfinished in the air, eyes closing.

“Of course,” Aro tells him, “always. If you want to let me.”

Lucian turns his face so he can press a kiss to Aro’s palm.

“Yes. I think I’m ready to, now.”

“Then yes.”

Aro places both hands on the sides of Lucian’s face, thumbs stroking his skin. That is all, for a moment, soft and comforting touches. The rhythmic rising and falling of Aro’s chest, entirely superfluous, but nice all the same. Then there is the familiar and slightly unpleasant tugging sensation. It feels as if something is being drained from him, like he is being consumed, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. Likely, though, that is because this is something he has come to associate with being close to Aro. The part that makes it almost nice is knowing that it is him, seeing him, knowing him more intimately than any other person can.

It’s not exactly like Lucian can tell what Aro is looking at, but he can feel times, feel sensations. 2003. Losing his pack. Roaming the world alone for a decade, lost and lonely. Meeting Peter and falling in love. His worry for Aro. Then the relief of finding him again. The frustration at nothing being able to have both of his loves, at their animosity, and the relief as they started to get along, started to like each other. The bright and sparkling joy at their getting together.

It’s like déjà vu, or a stream of them, one on top of the other, a stream of repeated consciousness and memories, and all the while the grounding sensation of Aro’s touch, the presence of him under and in front of Lucian, the scent of him, calming in its odd specificity. Still, when it ceases he feels out of breath, a little drained.

“Oh, my poor sweet wolf,” Aro murmurs, eyes wide and shining, “I am sorry for all you have suffered, for all you have lost.”

“Thank you.”

“I wish- I wish you would have told me. Contacted me to ask for assistance in your battle with the vampires. I would have come, my love.”

“I know,” Lucian assures him, “I know. But it had been so long since I had heard from you last, and those few decades- I had gotten so obsessed with my… my quest, I suppose. I am afraid you did not occur to me, not as an option for help.”

“Just, then, as someone who showed up in your dreams wearing very few clothes indeed?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

Lucian smiles.

“I don’t recall you ever complaining about being helpful in such a manner.”

“Never,” Aro promises, “though it is a service I much prefer to provide in person.”

-

Peter stands, leaning in the doorway, watching the two of them. They’re talking to each other softly in some foreign language. He catches the occasional word if it’s close enough to English or what little French he remembers, but it isn’t much. It is lovely, he must admit, to see them like that. All wrapped up in each other, and clearly very happy to be so, just the two of them. He isn’t jealous, not exactly. He knows he would be welcome to join them, if he so wished. That they would switch back to English, and move to the sofa to have space for all three of them. But he can’t help but feel somewhat unnecessary. Like perhaps a nice addition, but ultimately not an essential part of the relationship.

He ducks back out when Lucian starts to unbutton Aro’s shirt. Not because he doesn’t want to watch, but because if he does he will want to join in, to play a more active part. He will want to be adored, and that will weaken his resolve. They don’t seem to hear him leave, just as they didn’t seem to have noticed him watching. He is sneakier as a vampire. No pesky breath or heartbeat to give him away, and he has gotten better at moving silently. Not to hide from the two of them, not really. It’s more a sort of instinct. Hide in the shadows. Lurk. Ready to ambush people.

Before he gets in the lift down, he leaves a note. 

_Need some air. Not going to do anything dangerous, promise. Got my mobile if anything’s up. Back in a little while._

_Love,  
Peter_

He takes it down to the car park, deep below the building, just so he won’t meet someone, so he won’t have to explain what is wrong with him, why he is sick but seems perfectly fine. He’s gotten the contact lenses now, and while they’re a colder brown than his owns eyes are- than his own eyes _were_ , they look human enough. If someone notices or asks he’ll just say he wanted some that better compliment his eyes. His teeth, though. He can’t hide those. Just try not to open his mouth so much when he speaks. Maybe he needs to get a facemask, just claim to have some sort of contagious disease at all time. Which would be… sort of true? Although not, admittedly, transmittable through coughing. He could even get one with fangs on it. Make it a joke.

The air, though fairly far from fresh here, still feels good on his skin. It’s an overcast day, and the sun has almost set. Still he keeps his hood up, keeps his sunglasses on. Tucks his hands deep inside his pockets. Has even put on some jeans without distressing, to avoid any unnecessary sun exposure. He slouches under an awning and pulls his phone out, typing his needs into apple maps. Sticks his earbuds in and pulls up some upbeat music about performative satanism. It feels appropriate.

The church, when he gets there, is big and ostentatious. This is both because it’s Vegas, but also because it’s catholic. He thought that would be safest, although it was also, conveniently, the closest one. It’s been so long since he willingly entered a church anyway, even holy water and blessed artefacts he prefers to order online rather than go to have blessed in person, and he’s pretty sure the catholic church is bigger on the slightly occult and ritualistic church. Protestants, he has always thought, are rather lacklustre by comparison.

He hesitates, lurking on the pavement outside for a bit, but it looks weird, an old goth hanging outside a church like that, so he slinks inside. He takes a deep breath before stepping over the threshold, as if that will protect him. It doesn’t, although mainly because there does not seem to be anything he needs protection from. Obviously Aro isn’t harmed by the artefacts of Christendom, but just as clearly Jerry very much was. Not very, not so violently, but it hurt him. Lit his hand on fire when he grabbed a crucifix, Charley had said. But hallowed ground seems not to harm him. Not yet, at least. Perhaps it is like the sun, perhaps it takes time. 

There are a few people scattered in the pews, and some wandering, appreciating the art, and someone far in the back who Peter assumes to be a priest or some other member of the clergy. Keeping watch, maybe. Ready to protect Jesus’ stuff or whatever. 

Peter settles in a pew, head bowed, feeling awkward. He’s never been religious, though one of the foster homes he very briefly stayed in after his parents deaths was. The people there made him pray, and he hated it. He already knew their god didn’t like people like him. So after touching the bible tucked in the back of the pew in front of him, just to make sure it doesn’t burn him, he pulls out his phone and scrolls through twitter. His engagement is way down, a mail from a PR person had said. This makes sense, as Peter hasn’t tweeted anything in a week, having been rather busy with the whole becoming a horrible creature of the night business. 

He composes a string of emojis which he hopes his followers will have fun trying to interpret, tagging a handful of the trending hashtags, just to annoy the PR person. He tags it as posted from another city, just to throw people off. 

Ten minutes later, after having learn distressing things about the state of politics back home in the form of 140 character chunks from various newspaper accounts, he is satisfied that he isn’t actively harmed by being in here. He gets up, walking around the edge of the church, fingers trailing over statues, brushing over the gilt surface of crucifixes, making sure they don’t have power over him either. He ends up by the baptismal font, dipping his hand into the holy water, carefully at first, then all at once.

“Sir? Excuse me sir, please get your hand out of there!”

He looks up to see the priest watching him suspiciously.

“Sorry,” he says, turning his face down, so the man won’t see his fangs, “just making sure my hand is uh. Blessed or whatever.”

The priest looks him up and down somewhat disapprovingly, and Peter remembers that this hoodie has a number of inverted pentagrams, some mystic looking sigils and stuff. Not, perhaps, the attire of choice for good Christians. Though if anything it should imply he agrees with them broadly, and is merely on the side of the other team. He wipes his hand on his jeans, and this too elicits a displeased frown. How is one meant to dry of holy water? Is there a holy hand towel somewhere?

“Is there something you are looking for here today?”

Peter shrugs, sticks his hands deep in his pockets.

“Uh. Dunno. Confirmation I’m not incurably evil, I suppose.”

The priest, who is perhaps a decade or so older than Peter, and kind of attractive in a silver fox sort of way, crosses his arms over his chest. Peers down at him through surprisingly stylish glasses.

“What makes you think you are?”

Another increasingly uncomfortable shrug.

“Don’t think your church likes people like me.”

“Goths?” the priest asks, and Peter can’t help a snort of laughter.

There is the tiniest smirk on the priest’s face, and oh, god damn, this is on purpose. Making him feel comfortable and shit. God, did he go to the same pissing people off school as Peter’s therapist?

“I’m queer. Trans. An atheist. Hear your lot aren’t big on those things.”

The priest makes a non-committal gesture.

“Jesus spent time with all sorts of people. Everyone can be redeemed in his eyes.”

Peter is about to protest, but the priest cuts him off.

“Not that those are things that require redemption. Not unless you feel the need to.”

Peter squints at him, shoving his sunglasses up into his hair.

“Suspiciously generous of him. Specially coming from an American. Not known for acceptance, this place.”

“No,” adds the priest, with a hint of regret in his voice.

“Anyway. Don’t think your god likes unholy creatures of the night, either.”

The priest frowns.

“Goths?” he asks again.

“Of a sort,” Peter agrees.

“Anyway,” he adds, pulling a small spray bottle from his pocket, “can you bless my water bottle?”

The priest blinks.

“For vampire bats,” Peter explains.

The priest looks as if he about to argue, then shrugs.

“If that is what you need.”

-

 **Peter:** yo. Charley boi. Was being serious about this. Remind me, your uni in a different state, or?

 **Charley:** I’m not going to kill you, Peter. And yes, in California.

 **Peter:** Why not??? asked nicely, didn’t I? Said please and everything. Shit, kids nowadays. Help them save their girls and they wont even kill you. Ungratefuls what u r.

 **Charley:** Why do you want me to?

 **Peter:** got bit. Again. Worse this time. Need you to kill me b4 I do someone else.

-

 **Siri:** You have _7_ missed calls from _Charley Brewster_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted Peter to be self destructive and have someone be unexpectedly nice-ish to him. not that it seems to be doing any good.


	54. 2015:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter makes further discoveries about his vampiric nature

“I think it will be easier if you try to accept it,” Lucian tells him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Sure,” Peter says, “yeah. But I don’t want to accept it. I don’t want this to get easier. I don’t want to get used to it, because that’s means I’ve accepted it, am living with it- well. Dying with it. Whichever.”

Lucian looks at him with big sad eyes. Big sad puppy eyes. Literally. Well, if you can call anyone over eight hundred years old a puppy. 

“I know this is the last thing you wanted, was your greatest fear, but it has happened, and the only thing you can do is to find a way to live with it.”

His voice is so kind and gentle it physically hurts.

“I don’t want to. Shouldn’t have to.”

“No,” Lucian agrees, “you shouldn’t.”

They’re in the living room, which has become a gloomier place since Peter’s death. The curtains are shut tight, letting no light in. It would probably take longer to affect him through the barrier of glass, but they’re not taking any chances. Especially not since these are the conversations they keep having. 

Aro has gone out. Peter didn’t ask. Vampire business, maybe. Which, really, would make it Peter’s business too, now. Fuck. He hasn’t, so far, developed hearing as keen as Aro or Lucian. Better than it was, certainly. For example he can hear the blood flowing through people’s bodies, now. Smell it too. But his senses seem enhanced mostly in blood detection ways. Sometimes he even thinks he can almost see the blood through skin. It’s weird, especially with Lucian, though fortunately his blood doesn’t smell like food. Which is nice. At least he doesn’t have to worry about attacking him, even if he would be unlikely to be able to do any damage. Every time Peter has left the house, has interacted with any humans in person, he has gorged himself on the animal blood first. Until it nearly made him sick, just to be sure. And still he has been unpleasantly aware of it, every time. 

“But I don’t see what alternative there is. Is it better to be miserable rather than to make the best of the situation?”

“Yes,” Peter bites back, with more venom than he intends, “yes, it is! Because they turned me into a monster, a murderer, and those deserve to suffer!”

There is something like a growl in his voice, and he hates it.

“Do I deserve to suffer?” Lucian asks, infuriatingly calm.

“Of course not!”

“But am I not a monster, too?”

Peter groans, runs his hands through his hair, leaving read lines in his scalp.

“Course you’re not!”

“Is Aro?”

This is a more difficult question. Historically? Yes. Currently? Not so much. He is allowed to change.

“He is… so much better now. Hasn’t killed any humans in ages.”

“Does he deserve to suffer?”

Peter squirms. He sees what Lucian is doing, and he resents it.

“It’s not the same,” he insists.

“No,” Lucian agrees, “because Aro has killed thousands of humans, tens of thousands, and you have killed no humans.”

“Yet,” Peter mutters.

“And I’ve killed… I’m not sure. Perhaps a few hundred humans? Mostly while enslaved by the vampires, true, but I still did. And there were ones after, too. And not always entirely in self defence.”

Peter grimaces.

“Not sure you’re making the point you’re trying to make.”

“My point is,” Lucian continues, “that you have done nothing to make you monstrous. I understand that you don’t like what you have become, but you don’t have to let that dictate what you do. You can live off the blood of animals, and you can withstand at least small amounts of sunlight. And you’ve gotten the dark lenses, so no one can even tell.”

“Got fangs all the time,” Peter says, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge what are, some distant and reasonable part of his brain realises, somewhat sensible points.

“You do. But they’re not all that visible, and given your job and whole…”

“Whole what?”

“Err. Persona? You could easily claim to be wearing fake fangs, or even to have had your teeth altered.”

Peter makes an unhappy noise, and gets up. He starts to pace, needing to put some frustrated energy somewhere. Lucian watches him from the sofa, all calm, always calm, annoyingly so. And part of why he loves him. Frustrating wolf man.

“But what if I don’t? What if I can’t live off fucking pig’s blood forever? It’s not even been two weeks. What if I get in a situation where I’ve not eaten, and there’s a human and I can’t stop myself? What if I start to crave it? What if I lose control?”

His voice is rising in pitch, sentences getting faster, and had he breath or a pulse they would be far too fast now. Panic feels different when most of the physical sensations are gone. Feels different when you’re dead. Lucian has got up, is getting closer, arms outstretched, and then-

-

Peter is in a strange, cavernous parody of his flat. The walls tower over him, and yet the floor is equally distant. The grey and cave like walls feel somehow reassuring, but there is a giant here, whose giant limbs reach for him. He moves back, pulling himself, somehow. 

The sound in here is strange, unsettling. The vibrations moving different, moving wrong. The giant makes a noise, several noises, but they make no sense. They sound like roars, and Peter has to run, has to get away, but his legs aren’t working right. He knocks his arm into the wall, and suddenly he is falling, and it is such a long fall, oddly slower than it ought to be. Dream time. 

Thick, fleshy cylinders wrap around him, holding him firmly but carefully. Maybe it is the hands of the giant. There is something soothing and familiar about the smell of them, but he is still trapped, still terrified. It feels like a dream, all surrealist and still really actively, physically terrifying.

The giant strokes his back with- a massive giant finger? And the sensation is all wrong. Soft in a really strange way, and oh, it is quite soothing. The giant lowers him some, onto something soft, and his nail gets caught on something, but the soft stroking continues, and oh, oh that is rather nice. Soft, and warm, and comforting. Hypnotic, almost. And he-

-

Peter blinks. Frowns. He feels weird, groggy, like he’s just woken up from a too long nap having succeeded only in making himself feel worse. There is something warm next to him, and he closes his eyes again, leaning into it, burying his face in Lucian’s t-shirt. Smells good. Smells safe.

“Feeling better?” Lucian asks.

“Mmm,” Peter replies, “bit, yeah. Had the weirdest dream. I think I could fly in it, but I was hunted by a weird giant.”

Lucian makes an odd noise. 

“What?” Peter demands, pushing himself up on his elbow.

They’re on the bed, now, still fully clothed. Peter doesn’t remember deciding to nap, but surely that must have been what happened? He fell asleep on Lucian’s shoulder, maybe, and he carried him to the bed? Only- Only no. Because they were arguing, Peter was spiralling into a panic attack, and then-

“Lucian, what happened?”

Lucian is looking at him as if trying to decide how to cause as little damage as possible, and Peter both appreciates and hates it. He hates feeling fragile, feeling like he needs protecting, but he does know that Lucian doing it out of kindness, not because he wants to avoid the inconvenience of Peter getting upset. Although by the look on his face, he will get upset either way.

“Well, remember you were saying you were disappointed that you didn’t get super powers like Aro has?”

“Pretty sure that wasn’t how I put it, but yeah?”

“Well. We found one thing you can do that he can’t.”

“Which is?”

Peter kind of doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want anything more to take him even further from humanity. There is a suspicion, a feeling, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge it.

“It’s very… Classic vampire, if that helps. Not a weird glittering statue, like you called Aro.”

He’s drawing it out, and Peter hates it.

“Just fucking- just tell me, Lucian, please.”

The lycan takes a deep breath.

“You turned into a bat.”

Peter blinks.

“No?”

“Yes. You did. A tiny little one.”

Peter flops down onto his back again, staring up at the ceiling, seeing himself in the mirror mounted there. He sees the reflection of Lucian turn onto his side, placing a hand on Peter’s side, looking at him with worry. Which is, perhaps, warranted.

“What the fuck,” he murmurs softly.

He doesn’t, genuinely doesn’t know how to feel about that. 

“So that- My dream, that was?”

Lucian’s reflection nods.

“You were flying around, panicking a bit, and I, ah, caught you. Sorry. If it helps, at all, you were very cute.”

Peter makes a noise that even he isn’t sure what means.

“Fuck that’s weird.”

Lucian shrugs.

“I turn into a wolf. It doesn’t seem so strange.”

“Ngh. Uh. Yeah. Maybe? It felt… really fucking weird. Like my body was all wrong. Didn’t even realise I was flying, actually.”

“No?”

“Nah. And I guess. Uh. Could be worse? Feels almost more like a you thing than a vampire thing. Could be like that fucking uh. Film. Van Helsing? From like 2004, where the vampires turn into these giant bat monsters with gross looking wings.”

“I’m not familiar.”

“You wouldn’t be. But like. Massive, weird, gross.”

“Well. You were not. Tiny and fluffy and cute.”

Peter turns over to look Lucian in the face proper. It’s a good face to look into. It closes the distance, and kisses him. Yeah. That’s the comforting scent from earlier. Safe.

“Y’know, in the book, Dracula turns into a wolf. We would have matched,” Peter murmurs.

“I’m glad this isn’t making it worse,” Lucian says, soft, placing a warm hand on on Peter’s room temperature cheek.

“It’s making it more… Something. But I can fly, which is… which is pretty cool. And neither of you can. So that’s something. But, Lucian, important question. Was it- was I one of those cute bats, with the face like a fox, or one of the ugly squishy faced ones?”

“You could never be ugly, my love. You were a very cute, if squishy faced bat.”

Peter groans.

“Fuck.”

He groans, turn around to where Lucian has, thoughtfully, put his mobile on the bed side table. Peter grabs it, and pulls up wikipedia.

“You’re gonna help me figure out what I am,” Peter announces.

“All right,” Lucian agrees, and it sounds a bit like he’s indulging him.

He pulls up a flying fox first, because that’s the one he knows, and they are very cute, but Lucian is very certain that’s not it.

“Do you not think,” he suggests carefully, “that there might be an obvious category to check?”

And Peter groans and rolls his weird yellow eyes and types in vampire bats. And, perhaps not surprisingly, that is it. 

“Mng. Uærgh. Eeeh.”

“Sorry?”

“Guess it could be worse.”

Lucian grabs the phone from his hand and searches for images of “weird bats”, and that is quite reassuring, because a lot of them look like some weird eldritch abominations, their faces Lovecraftian horrors of odd shapes and petals of skin.

“Fine. Could be a lot worse. These guys- well. We guys? Could be worse.”

“Definitely. And, importantly, I think you will learn to control it, and you wouldn’t even have to. You know. If you don’t want to.”

“Huh. Yeah. Suppose that makes sense. Still, though. If I get the hang of flying, that could be… could be good.”

Lucian looks at him, unbearably fondly, trying and failing to hide his relief at Peter having been shocked out of his self hatred for a bit, at his not taking this new development as further sign he’s an irredeemable monster. Which he isn’t yet, perhaps, but who knows what the future will bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, apologies for ignoring this fic for pretty much a full month. Got really stuck on/inspired for my not-quite-human au with human Aziraphale and for no good reason other than my enjoyment shapeshifter Crowley. Which. Probably the fact that all my fics involve shape shifting says something about me. Unfortunate.  
> Also, do yourself a favour a search for weird bat images because those little guys are fucking wild. And the common vampire bat is pretty cute.


	55. 2015: Bat!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is very cute, but also not doing like super good

Aro is out, is walking through the night, blending in seamlessly with the humans. Or, well, he would be, if the humans were, as Peter would say, perpetually overdressed goths. So perhaps he is standing out among them, but Las Vegas is a place full of strangely attired people as it is, and at worst people will assume he is part of some show, or a human eccentric, rather than a millennia creature of the night. Which is slightly insulting, but also better than the alternative. There are hunters in the area, at least going by what the one they killed said, and so it is better to be careful.

He has been talking to an acquaintance, one he has not met for nearly a century, about what is happening in Europe. It is chaos, apparently, still. In fighting between former allies. Attacks and assassinations, the violent politics so common to his kind. He has decided, now, that he will wait to attempt to regain power until there are fewer people vying for the throne, until things have settled, and no one is expecting an attack. This, at the very least, is what he tells himself. He has, however, through his innumerable years, gained some amount of self insight, enough to know that this is only part of the reason. That the other part is that he is simply to happy to want to go back just yet. That he is putting it off because he has become used to this life, as free of excitement as it is. He doesn’t like it.

On the way back, he follows an impulse. He goes by an emergency room, insinuates himself in, and manages to leave with a few bags of human blood after bribing one of the workers. It’s very easy, he finds, as long as he gently touches people, brushing past them, until he finds one with significant financial troubles. And this, being America, is almost all of them. He works out an idea, to make himself more comfortable, to make the diet in the house a little more bearable. It will not be popular, but if he manages to do it just right, then he might be able to make it work with his two lovers not being angry with him for too long.

-

 **Charley:** I don’t understand why you’re not taking my calls but I’ll be in Vegas to visit my mom this weekend, so I can come by and talk to you?

 **Charley:** Peter?

 **Peter:** (thumbs up emoji)

 **Charley:** I’m worried about you

 **Peter:** Good call

-

Aro walks into their shared home a few hours before dawn. There are some very enthusiastic and physical noises, and Aro takes advantage of his lovers being all wrapped up in each other to go into the safe room, where there is a freezer for storing the extra blood, and stashing the bags of the human blood all the way at the bottom, beneath the tubs of animal blood. Then he closes up and follows the sounds into the bedroom.

Peter is sat in Lucian’s lap, his head thrown back and eyes closed, one of his hands fisted in Lucian’s hair. He doesn’t seem to have heard Aro come in at all. Lucian, though, his face flushed, looks over at him, an implied invitation, but Aro shakes his head, leaning against the wall to watch them. They don’t last too much longer, both reaching their release beautifully, Peter easing himself off Lucian and flopping down onto the bed, looking up and seeing Aro.

“Hey,” he says, his eyes lidded, his face relaxed, “you enjoy the show?”

“Oh, very much,” Aro replies with a smirk.

He shrugs off his jacket, kicks off his shoes and settles on the bed next to the two of them. Lucian leans across Peter to kiss him, and Aro can taste Peter on the kiss. Aro leans down to kiss Peter too, who smiles into it, but doesn’t move further. 

“The two of you had fun without me, I take it?”

Peter makes a noise of agreement, and tugs at Aro’s shirt.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he informs him. 

Aro unbuttons and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. Peter rolls his eyes.

“For someone who grew up wearing a toga you’re very into too many layers,” he grumbles.

“Togas were the ancient Romans, not the us,” Aro points out.

“Bleh. Fine. Sure you wore those too for a few centuries, then.”

Aro shrugs and nods.

“You should have seen him in the 18th century,” Lucian says, and laughs.

“It was,” Aro says, with mock outrage, “the style of the time. It is not my fault you’ve never followed the times.”

Lucian just smiles at him, amused and fond and unbearably handsome. Peter is frowning, staring up at the ceiling mirror and, presumably, attempting to remember what styles were like in the seventeen hundreds.

“He wore all creams and golds and whites,” Lucian adds, “completely opposite to these days. It wasn’t until the eighteen hundreds he settled into the all black with a hint of red and gold. He used to mix it up a lot more, you know, but then people started writing about vampires, and he felt, perhaps, that he had an image to live up to.”

Peter makes a face.

“Really can’t imagine that.”

“I used to wear silver too, sometimes, but I did stop when I got to know Lucian better. It seemed rude not to.”

“Oh, yeah, same,” Peter says, and pushes himself up, settling cross legged on the bed, facing the two of them.

“Y’know,” he adds, running a hand through his hair, messing it up in a slightly different way, “I kind of wish I could have… I mean. Experienced some of it. You guys have seen just- just so much, so many times and. Well. Now it’s too late for me anyway it feels almost pointless. Being, you know, never ageing or dying and not even having seen anything after the late seventies. What’s the point in that?”

“You will,” Lucian promises, “you will see history unfold, and it will be both strange and wonderful and horrifying.”

Peter shrugs.

“Doesn’t feel like it. Feels like the world isn’t going that great these days. Like we might have fucked it up too much for there too be that much time left.”

“People have always thought that,” Aro soothes, “thought that the world was coming to an end, but it has yet to do so. Civilisations rise and fall, this is true, and it will happen again, but humanity, fragile as y- they are, will continue on.”

Peter hums.

“Maybe in space. That would be pretty cool. And vampires in space would be good. No sun in space. Or, I guess, many sun, but not like. Inside spaceships. Got to be protected from radiation and shit probably. Dunno how that’d work for you, though, Lucian. Would you turn even if we were too far from the moon? Would any moon do? Hold on, if a lycan goes to the moon, one who, anyway, can’t like control their transformations yet, would they be transformed all the time? Because I mean, if you’re on it it’s always full, right?”

He is, Aro decides, quite sweet.

“I still don’t know, Peter. There are no lycan astronauts yet. At least, to my knowledge.”

“Hmm. Guess you’ll find out.”

Aro and Lucian make brief and worried eye contact, which Peter doesn’t seem to notice. His voice is casual enough, which is, perhaps, worse. Aro is trying, of course, to respect Peter’s privacy, his wishes, but he worries for him, and he knows Lucian does too, and it is so very tempting to reach out, to touch him and look into his mind. To know whether he plans to do something terribly, terribly foolish, like walk out into the desert and see how much damage the sun can actually do to him.

“We did learn about a new power of Peter’s,” Lucian says, and Peter looks up.

“Yeah- Yep.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Think it’s better if I show you,” Peter says, and makes a face of concentration that looks almost like he is in pain.

He keeps doing this for over a minute, then slumps down a bit. He looks to Lucian, as if for help.

“If it works at all similarly for you, if you do not need such an intense emotional moment, it might help to picture it in your head?”

“Been doing that,” Peter argues, and still neither will tell Aro what it is. 

Perhaps it is some sort of great spectacle, perhaps he has gained the power of flight. That would certainly be something. 

“Shit, maybe I can’t do it any more. Think that’s a thing? One time powers?”

Peter’s voice is speeding up, and then it stops completely. Peter stops completely, vanishes, replaced by a small bat, crouching on the sheets between Lucian and Aro. It looks up with completely black eyes, making excited movements. 

“Oh,” Aro says softly, “that is quite impressive.”

The little bat- Peter, looks as though he is smiling, his little fangs sharp and gleaming in the light. The fur on his back is a dark grey, lightening around his face a belly. Aro reaches out his hand to him, and Peter sort of hops a little closer, using the joint of his wings. 

“I have heard of vampires able to do this,” Aro murmurs, as Peter uses sharp claws to crawl onto his hand, “but I have never seen it. This happened before?”

“Just a few hours ago,” Lucian confirms.

Peter tries to nod, but it appears bats are not quite meant for that sort of motion. Still, the intent is clear enough.

“You can fly?” Aro asks, and Peter shifts around, and uses his wings to sort of launch himself in the air, wings unfolding and flapping rapidly.

Lucian holds his arm out, and Peter attempts to land on it, but falls, and is caught in Lucian’s other hand. And then, very rapidly, he changes back, and ends up laying quite awkwardly on top of him.

“Sorry. It’s, uh, hard to. Do right,” Peter says, and climbs awkwardly off him. 

“Experience will help,” Lucian reassures him.

Peter looks down as he makes a non-committal noise. Which again is quite worrying. Perhaps Aro’s experiment with the human blood will have to wait. If he is this pessimistic despite having discovered a new power that doesn’t appear to bother him, that if anything he seems somewhat excited about, doesn’t feel makes him more monstrous, then what does that say about his mental state? Again Aro glances at Lucian, who does seem to share his concern, and this time Peter definitely catches the looks.

“No,” he says, “No. ‘M fine. Promise. Just. Don’t know.”

“We just worry,” Lucian tells him, as Peter squirms.

“You know. I figured, being dead, my meds wouldn’t do shit any more. But, I don’t know, I’ll start taking them again, see if that works, all right? Maybe put the contacts in, call my therapist again? Promise. I know it’s getting bad again.”

“That would be sensible, I think,” Aro tells him, though he is not entirely reassured.

“Yes,” Lucian agrees, a soft smile on his face.

“Ngh. Yep. Anyway. Gonna go have a shower,” Peter announces, and eases himself off the bed.

“What do you think?” Lucian asks, in Romanian, when they can hear the water running.

“I think we should keep a close eye on him,” Aro says, “more, even, than we have had. I do not entirely trust him not to do something to harm himself.”

“You think he would do that to us?” Lucian asks, shifting closer and starting to unbutton Aro’s shirt for him.

He slides the shirt down, so that he can drape himself over Aro, resting his head on the vampire’s chest. Aro wraps an arm around him, twining his fingers in his hair.

“It is not about us,” Aro tells him, feeling elated to for once be the one to understand Peter slightly better, “I do not think we enter into it much at all, my love, other than if anything to make him feel better. Even me, now.”

Lucian sighs.

“I know. Or I understand. But I just- I do not know what to do.”

“I am not sure that there is much we can do. Other than look after him, try to make him feel like he has not lost everything, all connection to humanity.”

“But he mostly has, hasn’t he?”

“Yes.”


	56. 2015: Reunion part ?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets a visit from an old friend

“Someone is coming,” Aro announces, looking up from his book.

“Eww, are you listening to the neighbours fucking again? That’s fucked up, babe,” Peter says, looking very pleased with his joke.

Aro looks at him, then sighs. Lucian watches the two of them with immense fondness.

“Someone,” Aro says, slowly and deliberately, “is arriving.”

And this appears to be correct, as the security system dings, and Peter gets up, abandoning his game. Lucian can hear what he can only assume to be swearing in some language he can’t identify from Peter’s dropped headphones as blood splatters cover the screen. Lucian does not understand modern entertainment, but it does seem to be able to take Peter’s mind off his newfound un-death, so he does approve. But for something supposed to be fun it certainly seems to make people quite angry. 

“Hi, who- oh. Yeah. Come up.”

Peter disappears into the hall of weaponry, and Aro and Lucian exchange quick glances, then follow him. They hang back a bit, by the entry to the rest of the penthouse, and Lucian leans against the door. Aro slips an arm around Lucian’s waist, and Lucian leans his head against his shoulder. 

Peter seems to fidget nervously as they wait, pulling his phone out, scrolling for a few seconds, then putting it back. 

“Everything all right?” Lucian asks.

“Nyeah. Yep. Just someone I haven’t seen in… in a while.”

“But whom you trust to see you now? As you are?”

It feels a little mean to ask, but Lucian can’t help but notice Peter isn’t wearing his contacts, and he doesn’t think there are anyone who know of Peter’s secret. It seems to occur to Peter, then, and he swears, and sprints towards the bathroom, brushing past the two of them. They can hear him rooting through the bathroom as the lift makes its little noise, and the door slides open to reveal a young human man.

“I don’t,” Lucian tells Aro in Romanian, figuring it is probably a safe language not to be understood in, “think it would be wise to reveal our natures to this human without Peter’s permission.”

“No,” agrees Aro.

“Uh. Hi,” the human says, in an accent that might sound local had Lucian been in Vegas long enough to notice, “is, uh. Do you speak English? I’m here to see Peter.”

He looks confused, and a little worried.

“We do,” Lucian confirms, “and he will be right out. I take it you are… a friend of his?”

The young man looks uncomfortable, and seems to try to both nod and shrug at the same time.

“I see,” Aro murmurs, deliberately ominously.

Aro can seem terribly predatory when he wants to, and though it is undoubtedly intimidating and unsettling to humans, to Lucian it is mostly very hot. He wonders, sometimes, given his choice in lovers, whether something about his very terrible upbringing made something go wrong with him. Although if the thing that is wrong only leads him to find his vampiric lovers irresistible, he doesn’t mind too much.

“Charley,” Peter exclaims, rushing back in, “hi, hey, sorry.”

The human looks relieved to see him, though still hesitant. Lucian can detect just a hint of fear in him, and he wonders, for a minute, exactly what Peter has told him. This must be the young man with whom he defeated the vampires years ago, so perhaps he has. Although Lucian can’t quite understand why he would, because the man had seemed quite anti vampire, from what Peter has told him.

“Hi, yeah. Just met your… uh. Foreign friends.”

“Foreign boyfriends,” Peter corrects.

“Boyfriends plural?” Charley asks, eyebrows attempting to ascend into his hairline.

“Yeah,” Peter replies, quite matter-of-factly, “Lucian and Aro,” he gestures to them as he names them, “used to be a thing, and then Lucian and I got together, and then Aro showed back up, and we were uh. Mortal enemies for a while, but now we’re dating instead. Works much better, yeah?”

Aro and Lucian dutifully nod, and Charley looks like he has opinions on this, but is too intimidated to voice them. 

“Sure,” he says, “Uhm. And about what you told me…”

“Right! Yes. Look, we’ll go down to the bar to have a talk about it, yeah? You’re- Are you old enough these days?”

Charley rolls his eyes, but confirms that he is. Peter turns to Aro and Lucian, and makes a series of expressions at them, by which, presumably, he means to communicate something at them. Lucian doesn’t understand, and when he glances to the side Aro also seems confused. Peter grins and gives them a thumbs up, and throws an arm around the human’s shoulder, leading him back into the lift. 

“I do not understand humans. Or, I think, the until recently human,” Lucian announces.

Aro leans in to kiss his cheek.

“You’ve never been one, it’s understandable.”

“Well. It has been a while for you too,” Lucian points out.

“One never forgets,” Aro insists loftily, and laughs at Lucian’s obvious scepticism. 

They return to the living room, settling on the sofa. Lucian gets out his laptop again, in an effort to keep track of whether there is any significant supernatural activity in the area (this penthouse excluded), or any sign of hunters. He drapes his legs over Aro’s lap, so the vampire can rest his book on his knees.

“What do you think they’re talking about?”

“Oh,” Aro says, “perhaps catching up. Probably something innocuous.”

-

“So,” Peter says, gesturing to a table in a dark corner of the bar, “are you ready to murder me?”

Charley goes wide eyed, looking around in a panic. Peter waves his concern off, setting down their drinks. Charley insisted on getting a coke, and Peter got a bloody mary, because while he may still be actively suicidal about his newfound vampirism, but he’s still got a sense of humour. Charley didn’t seem to find it funny, though.

“Peter, I need you to explain what’s going on,” Charley insists.

Peter glances around, making sure no one is watching them, then bares his fangs at Charley. The boy, although he must have been expecting this, still flinches. Peter looks down into his murky red drink. He was expecting a reaction like this, but it still hurts. So. Fair reactions for them both, then.

“Don’t need to worry,” he assures Charley, “I had a late breakfast today.”

The boy’s eyes widen. Or, well, not boy, not really, not any more. He’s twenty one, now. Or twenty two? He hasn’t been keeping score. Properly an adult, anyway. Settling into his features a bit more.

“From animals. Get it at the butcher. No, uh, human based diet, promise.”

“Oh,” Charley says, “oh, good, yeah.”

He frowns, and drinks, and watches Peter closer for a moment.

“You don’t seem like an evil monster, like you want to kill me.”

“Why would I want to kill you? No. Don’t want to kill anyone. That’s why you’re here. To stop me from doing so.”

“Sure, but I mean. You know how Jerry was. And Amy. And Ed and the others.

“Who the fuck is Ed?”

“The- the guy? Who came into your apartment when Amy and I was there? And you ran away and hid in your safe room?”

Peter winces, but tries to play it off. He is a tiny bit ashamed of that, just in hindsight. He is a tiny bit traumatised, too. That disembodied arm, writhing on the floor, grabbing at him uselessly. Fuck he’s glad that’s not the vampire he turned into. Well, not for more than those fifteen minutes four years ago, at any rate.

“Right. Well, no. I don’t- There doesn’t seem to be some other vampire controlling me. Or, if so, not in a way I notice. And I mean, Aro doesn’t sleep, so it’s not like I’ve been sleeping walking out into the night and eating people.”

“That’s- That’s good? Wait, he doesn’t sleep? What are they? Are they, you know, vampires too? Is that who bit you?”

“Oh! No. Uh. Aro is one, yeah, but a different kind than me. Immune to sun, for one thing. And venomous. And indestructible. And he doesn’t sleep. And he’s over three thousand years old. Lucian’s an immortal werewolf from the middle ages.”

Charley looks about as confused and overwhelmed as it is reasonable to be when faced with this sort of information. It is, frankly, still kind of overwhelming and confusing for Peter too, and it’s been his life for a good long while now.

“And- to be clear, you started dating them before or after your… current condition?”

“Oh, before. Lucian and me have been together for about two and a half years now. And Aro… Well, and all of us together for- I don’t think it’s been more than like two or three months. And I’ve been like this for… Two weeks, tomorrow.”

“That’s- Okay. Sure. Whatever.”

“Look, Charley, I’ve never claimed to make good choices. But those two are one. Or two. They’re two good choices. Love those supernatural weirdoes.”

He blinks, and drinks some of his drink, which he can’t help but feel could be much improved by switching the tomato juice for blood, because this is what he is now. And- And he realises he just said that he loves Aro. Does he? Is he in love with him? He isn’t sure. Perhaps he’ll ask Lucian. Lucian will know.

“But you still want me to, you know?” Charley asks, miming something Peter charitably chooses to interpret as a staking a vampire motion, and nothing else at all. 

“Yeah? I don’t- I don’t want to kill someone, and I don’t want to want to kill someone, or eat them. And I think that kinda comes with the blood consumption territory. I mean, I saw Amy try to kill you. And that girl loves you. Or did love you? I’m not totally up to date on your whole situation.”

“Still together,” Charley says, presumably because that’s the easiest thing to respond to.

“Oh. Good. Tell her hi from me.”

“I, uh, I will. This is- Peter, look. You don’t- You seem like you’re not really a threat of any kind? I understand what you’re saying, and your teeth are, uh. But If no one is making you eat people, then… I mean, you’re my friend. Or acquaintance.”

“Harsh,” Peter mutters.

“And I mean. Have you tried, like. Well, you know with Jerry, taking care of him fixed everyone. Fixed Amy. And you. Isn’t there a similar thing you can try?”

“Well, the blessed stake burnt with Jerry. Also I’m not allergic to religion, it seems. At least not Christianity. Haven’t tried any of the others yet.”

“Okay. Sure, but maybe if you find them and kill them? Maybe that will cure you?”

“Huh,” Peter says, and frowns, “hadn’t really thought of that. I mean, I don’t know who bit me. They knocked me out first. And then just sort of fucked off. Flew off into the sunrise. Well, metaphorically, it was like three in the morning.”

“You can fly?”

Peter wiggles his hand non-committally.

“Sort of. I can show you later. ‘S kind of cool, that bit, actually.”

“Okay, but. And this is just a suggestion, Peter, but hear me out. What about we try finding the one who bit you and get rid of them before you make me kill you?”

Peter considers. If he can be cured, then that’s probably worth trying. But what if the vampire who bit him isn’t any danger either, what if they just bit him in self defence, or because Peter killed their friend? What if they’re- well, not vegetarian, exactly, but living off animal blood too? Then- Then that would, he supposes, prove that he won’t turn into a mindless monster either. Maybe. But that feels a lot like an excuse. Though he does, he thinks, owe it to Lucian and Aro to try to find a way. Because as much as he knows they have each other, and that while they’ll be sad if he dies they will, eventually, be fine, he doesn’t want to hurt them if he doesn’t need to.

“Fine,” he says, “all right. We can try that first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took so much longer to write than i planned, partly because i insist on having on youtube videos in the background while writing (as well as a livestream of some cute danish bats (unvampiric)), but also because my cat decided she needed to be on my lap between my laptop and my hands 75% of the time. not that im blaming her, she is perfect and provides excellent moral support. but not efficiency.


	57. 2015

Aro lies draped across Peter, a wolf shaped Lucian curling around the two of them. A warm and comforting weight whose enormous paw rests on Peter’s thigh, the claws heavy enough to almost feel painful. Peter’s hands are in Aro’s hair, making tiny braids that look just a little bit ridiculous. But the ancient vampire doesn’t seem to mind. It’s weird, thinking about it. Obviously just being very old doesn’t make anyone more worthy of respect, doesn’t make them worth more except as a historical source, but it is still strange touching his hair, his skin, touching him and knowing that body has existed for nearly three and a half millennia. Quite literally touching history. And, well, as someone who has for a number of reasons exclaimed “fuck history”, it is a delight to finally be able to do so. He laughs softly to himself.

“Hmm?” Aro asks, seemingly so comfortable he appears almost to be sleepy.

“Just thinking about, uh, how old you are. Is it.. Is it weird for you, being with someone roughly 3280 years younger than you?”

Aro catches Peter’s hand, encircling it in his own, rubbing a thumb over Peter’s knuckles. He is getting used to the vampire’s skin feeling warm, now, even as odd as it is, and it is nice, however much it throws his own perpetual room temperatureness into sharp relief. If he manages to cure himself he will miss it.

“A little. But Peter, you are a grown man, able to make your own decisions. Remember, Lucian too is millennia younger than me.”

“Hmm. Suppose you’re used to it, then.”

“Nearly everyone I’ve ever known is younger than me. That happens when you get to this age.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Aro turns to look up at him, suddenly more serious.

“You don’t have to. There is no reason you should not last as long as me.”

Peter squirms. Aro presses a kiss to where his heart used to beat.

“I know the things you are feeling. I know they are things you have felt before. But you made it through then, and I do not see any reason you should not do so now too.”

“What I was going through then was different,” Peter argues, “what was wrong was how I was made to feel, what others made me think of myself. Who I was, am, isn’t wrong. I know that now. But what I have become now, it’s…”

“Like me,” Aro finishes, cruelly.

“No. Yes. A bit?” Peter admits.

“And it is bad,” Aro says.

“It’s bad that I want to eat people. That if I’m not careful I am going to hurt someone.”

“You feel like you are losing control?  
“No. Which is what worries me. What if I don’t notice? What if I stop caring? What if I start justifying killing people to feed on them?”

“Then we,” Aro promises, a hand resting on his chest, thumb tracing old scars, feeling for a pulse that isn’t there, “will be there to make sure you do not lose yourself. But I think the fact that you worry means there is little to worry about.”

“That,” Peter argues, “makes no sense.”

“The doubt and worry that one is not a good person, and the need to try to be one, is a defining characteristic of a good person. Please believe me, Peter, I have read the minds of many of them. Of you.”

Peter sighs. He worries.

“It’s almost tempting to have you read mine again. So you can reassure me I’m not a monster. Though I suppose you might realise that I am.”

“You are not, Peter. You may not always be a nice person, but you are a good one.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Not quite as much as Lucian. Not as selfless as him. But you have killed a lot fewer humans and vampires, so I think that rather evens it out.”

Peter smiles, despite himself, and reaches down to tug at Lucian’s paw, pulling it up so that they are almost holding hands. Paws. Whatever.

“Don’t think I’m quite there yet. You’re not including yourself, then, in that category?”

“There is no need for mockery. We both know that I am not. I have also never tried to be. And yet both of you like me, so I cannot be doing everything wrong.”

"You are very pretty and sparkly," Peter allows.

"Is that all?"

The raised eyebrow would be more effective if Aro's head wasn't pillowed on Peter's chest, if he didn't look so... so soft.

"You're pretty good in bed, too. And you have good taste in fashion. Good hair. Good taste in werewolf boyfriends."

Lucian makes a soft noise at this, stretching and curling in on himself until fangs and fur disappear, until a few moments later he is soft and human again. 

"He is less terrible than he pretends to be," Lucian promises, and yawns.

Peter wants to believe him. So does Aro.

-

Peter does his first show since his untimely demise. It is fine. He wears contacts, he gets some of that stuff people use to pretend they've lost teeth, hides the bottoms of his fangs. Insists on doing his own make up. And it's all fine. No one even notices anything is wrong, which is just a little bit insulting. He gets yelled at by his manager for not properly explaining things, and when his costars question him he claims to have been in rehab. This isn't entirely successful, given that one had seen him in the bar the previous night, but he defends himself that alcohol isn't what he needs to stop relying on. He doesn't tell them that it's blood.

Later he and Lucian head out, just the two of them, to the place where Peter was bitten. In the hopes of finding some clues to the whereabouts of the vampire who bit him. It has been two weeks, so Lucian isn't hopeful any scent trace will linger, but if the house remains vacant, then perhaps there will be clues. 

It is, fortunately, still, although now there is a for sale sign out front, with a number to call. Which means somebody has probably been in there. Cleaned. Gotten rid of all traces. The cardboard in the windows, for example, has been taken down, though there are still thick sticky lines of duct tape residue along the edges. There is a second floor window open, so rather than spend time breaking and entering or picking the lock, Peter simply turns into a bat and squeezes through the opening, before turning back and open the door for Lucian. He is grateful that whatever magic allows him to turn him into a bat, he doesn't shred or lose his clothing. That would be a pain, although easier to understand. He is grateful, too, that it's getting easier to do.

In the house, as guessed, there is little of investigative value. The furniture has mostly been cleared out, as have all clutter and personal belongings, and even Peter can tell the place mainly smells like cleaning products. Still, he goes into the bedroom where he died.

"You okay?" Lucian asks with a gentle hand on Peter's shoulder.

"Don't know," Peter replies truthfully, "It's not like... traumatic flashback bad, but it's weird. Creepy. Like I'm haunting myself."

Lucian slides his arms around Peter, rests his head on his shoulder. He is solid. Comforting. The wolf scent lingering always, now Peter's senses are more acute. Feels safe.

"Gonna have a look up there," Peter announces, gently untangling himself and gesturing at the well hidden trap door leading up to the attic.

It's just a metal ring, really, tiny enough that it's hard to get more than a single finger through, and he has to stretch as far as he can to reach it. There is no fold out ladder, so he has Lucian give him a boost, and crawls up, illuminating sections of the dark and dusty space with the flashlight on his phone. He coughs, more out of habit than anything else, as dust billows around him when he moves.

"I'm getting something, now," Lucian calls up.

Which makes sense, because so is Peter. Some hint of something that shouldn't be familiar, yet is. 

"Is it, you know, is it like me?"

"Less pleasant, but yes," Lucian replies diplomatically, making Peter smile.

There are grooves in the roof beams, small scratches as though left behind by tiny claws. A few strands of bat fur on the floor, and some human hairs, too, coppery and curled. Peter leans closer to inspect them, then grimaces. There is a stench, also, which Peter has a sinking feeling might be bat piss. 

-

Peter skypes Charley to update him, as the kid has gone back to his uni, and gets to see Amy too. Apparently she's been told all about the situation, and Peter wishes Charley would have asked first, but maybe that's not a courtesy he's earned yet.

"So what's your plan?"

"Gonna have Lucian play bloodhound and help me track them down. You know, bring a couple stakes, see what happens."

"And if you can't?"

Lucian and Aro aren't here with him, but they are in the next room, so Peter just smiles.

"Then I guess that's a problem for future me."


	58. 2015: Glorious & Cathartic Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the help of Lucian, Peter manages to track down the vampire who killed him, and get ready to take his revenge and reclaim his humanity

It’s another two weeks before they manage to track down the vampire. Charley is in town again, so he comes too, only needing a little bit of a pep talk. Peter has whispered to him again, that he needs him to kill him, should anything happen, should Peter go too far, somehow. Because he isn’t sure he can trust Lucian and Aro to do so. That Aro doesn’t secretly want Peter to go feral. That Lucian doesn’t care more about Peter’s safety than that of others. And he doesn’t mind Aro’s blood drinking, so he would not mind if Peter starts, either. And that scares him.

The vampire’s stronghold, if it can be called such, is a shitty second floor flat in the more depressing part of the city. It is, in fact, in somewhat of the same neighbourhood that Lucian had lived in. Maybe it’s the hot area for supernatural creatures. Still, Peter gets ready to go in. There is a window, high up on the wall, from whence light is almost entirely obscured by blackout curtains. Which means this is it. It is open, though, and so Peter asks Lucian and Charley to stay outside. Partly because Charley has borrowed a small hand crossbow that shoots stakes in case the vampire flees in bat shape, but also because Peter isn’t entirely comfortable leaving the very human kid alone with Aro.

Inside, they find the vampire. A young man, with curly red hair in an undercut style that’s just on this side of out of fashion again, sat atop a table, as if waiting for them. His skin is pale, his eyes the same yellow as Peter’s, and he too has a small scar on the side of his neck. The bite-marks. Naturally. He’s dressed all in colour, and on the one hand Peter can respect going against expectations, but it does look quite odd. Not at all bat-like. Except maybe that one bright white and orange bat. 

“I’ve been expecting you,” the vampire says, but casually, like someone having an appointment, not spooky and dramatic at all.

-

The young human shivers, but Lucian doesn’t think the temperature is to blame. He looks at Lucian out of the corner of his eye, and the fear is unmistakeable, hangs heavy in the air.

“It’s going to be all right,” Lucian promises, “you are safe. The full moon is a long while away.”

Not, of course, that this matters at all, but they haven’t prioritised getting the young amateur vampire hunter a thorough rundown of the exact strengths and weaknesses of lycans and Aro’s particular species of vampires. 

“Uh. Yeah. Yeah, sure,” Charley says, glancing from the entrance to the building, then up to the flat in question.

Not at the sky at all. So not that worry, then. His hands fumble with the mechanism of the small crossbow, which makes Lucian nervous in turn. The human is unlikely to shoot him, yes, but Lucian has been shot with crossbow bolts before, and he is intimately familiar with the pain of it. 

“What is bothering you, then? I can promise you Peter is completely safe with Aro. He is far stronger than this other vampire.”

“Yeah… Yeah, that’s part of why I’m-”

He cuts himself off, then hesitates, looking up at Lucian. 

“Look, I think I should tell you something.”

“Yes?”

The boy seems not to want to say whatever it is, hands going in and out of pockets, nervous glances either way.

“When Peter reached out to me, he. Well, he told me to do something. It’s what he opened with, really. He told me to- asked me if I… And look, I would never do it, of course I wouldn’t. Especially knowing how very very scary the two of you are- Not that- Not that that’s all.”

“Yes?” Lucian encourages.

He has a feeling he isn’t going to like whatever it is Charley is failing to tell him. There is a pit of unease in his stomach, and he is too distracted to be trying to hear what is happening inside, as he has been doing so far, with some success. 

“He asked me to kill him. And again, I wouldn’t- I don’t think I could, and not just because you two would murder me but- but he seems normal, right? He doesn’t seem like a monster?”

It is not entirely unexpected, and yet still it feels like being punched in the stomach.

“He- he did.”

Charley nods. Lucian feels nauseated. 

“Really… Weirdly, too. Like weirdly cheerfully. But he seemed completely serious. And I don’t want- I mean. I couldn’t harm Amy, my girlfriend, not seriously, even when she was trying to kill me, when she seemed like she was entirely a monster, and like obviously I’m not that close to Peter, but still, he’s a friend, and he’s not trying to kill or eat me, or even eat or kill people and so-”

Charley keeps up this sort of nervous babbling for a while, as Lucian is consumed by guilt and a sort of righteous rage. Not at the human, the human is incidental, but at Peter, and at the world and trauma that has happened to him, that has made him think that he can so easily be made monstrous, be turned into something evil, when he is such a good man. And he wants to understand that Peter thinks like this because he himself is hurting, not because he wants to hurt Lucian and Aro, but it is hard. It is hard knowing how much he knows about Lucian’s previous experience losing loves of his life. It is hard to not feel as though some part of it is Peter lashing out, but then- But then he would have told them. He wouldn’t have gone behind their back. And that is worse, somehow, because that means he is serious about it. 

“And I am so sorry,” Charley is saying, and Lucian realises he hasn’t caught the last five minutes of whatever the boy is saying.

He realises, also, that Charley is terrified that Lucian will hurt him for even being asked to do this. Which does, even more, justify his intense nervousness about this whole situation. 

“Thank you for telling me,” he interrupts, trying to project a kindness and safety he doesn’t know that he means.

“I- yeah. Thought you should know. I don’t know. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to do that sort of thing, you know? He just… seems like he’s having a good time. Mostly. At least four years ago.”

Lucian makes a sort of shrugging motion.

“He struggles. A lot. Not just these last few weeks, not just with this, but. With everything. With Aro, for a long while. With me, before that. With Ginger’s death. With the creature who took away his childhood coming back for more. And I know he has… hurt himself, before. In different ways. But he is good at hiding it. Good at playing a role. At burying the deeper things.”

Charley doesn’t reply, doesn’t look at Lucian. He shivers again. Lucian thinks he understands how he feels.

-

“What do you mean, expecting me? What the fuck?” Peter demands.

Aro is standing just a little behind him, ready for a fight. And, presumably, for criticising substandard vampire life choices. The strange vampire watches Peter with those creepy yellow eyes that Peter has to see in the mirror when he is too lazy to put in his contacts. He’s wearing them now, though. To not put Charley off more than he needs to. 

“I mean. I know who you are, I’ve seen your show. A dramatic confrontation seems in character, doesn’t it?”

“What the fuck?” Peter repeats.

“He is not entirely wrong,” Aro murmurs, because he is an evil traitor.

He may also be right, but that is far from the point. 

“Why did you bite me?” Peter demands.

The vampire hops down from the table, and Peter feels Aro tensing behind him. But he doesn’t think this guy is attacking. No, for his accusations of Peter, this guy too appears to appreciate a good villainous monologue. A chance to explain his actions before being righteously murdered.

“Because you killed my friend. My- Well. My family, I guess, and I don’t believe in the death penalty, but I do think for you, biting you, turning you, it might be more cruel. Because I did recognise you, you know. Obviously. Been following you for years. Still am, kind of, to see how this has affected you.”

“What,” Peter repeats, “the fuck?”

He feels Aro’s hand at the small of his back, as a comforting touch, and there is a thought, a realisation hovering just outside his consciousness, a cognitive itch. Peter doesn’t like it.

“You don’t believe in the death penalty, but you kill and eat people?” he asks instead, his hand curling around his stake.

“I don’t,” the vampire tells him, defensively. 

“Haven’t you worked it out yet, the bat thing? I don’t know why, but it seems to be the thing for us. Vampire bat themed. You read up on them? You must have, job like yours. Do you know how they feed? Well, it’s a similar thing for us. Or for me, anyway. Go bat-shaped, get in through window, feed on sleeping humans without them even noticing. Only without the continuous pissing and reasonable risk of rabies. Which is good. Doesn’t hurt them much, the humans. Don’t take too much. You know when you wake up with little cuts or bruises you don’t remember? That’s the extent of the damage I do.”

“I think the greater damage you do is by being unbelievably creepy by- hold on. Won’t the people you feed on turn, then?”

“No,” the vampire says, “no. That requires draining a lot more blood. And feeding them some of mine. Otherwise there would be a lot of us. Too many to go unnoticed.”

Peter makes a face, feels vaguely sick.

“So I…”

“Had some of my blood, yes.”

“Gross.”

Aro nudges Peter, just a little.

“Would you like me to-”

“Not yet,” Peter replies.

He isn’t done with whatever this interrogation is turning out to be. The black painted nails on his free hand are digging into his palm, and he is fairly certain that he has broken the skin. He can smell blood. 

“Have you tried it yet? Human blood? I notice you did bring a snack with you,” the vampire says, gesturing to the window.

“Fuck,” Peter mutters.

“You’re not all that subtle, bringing your… whatever, bodyguards? I don’t know what they are, but…”

“My boyfriends,” Peter corrects automatically, “I mean. Not the human. The other two.”

The vampire looks past Peter, perhaps at Aro, eyebrows raised.

“Hold on. So, you kill vampires and date them? That seems… a bit hypocritical.” 

Peter glances at Aro, whose face seems to indicate that the vampire has a point, and Peter’s glance turns to a glare.

“That’s- it’s different. He’s different.”

“How?”

“Just is. He’s a different kind. Sparklier.”

“Sparklier?”

“Sparklier.”

“And, and let me get this right, because he is sparklier, he has more right to live than my maker?”

This conversation isn’t going the way Peter planned at all. 

“Wait. The vampire I killed was the one who turned you?”

The vampire nods. Which means simply killing one’s maker isn’t enough. Won’t work. Won’t fix him. He feels Aro’s hand on his shoulder again. Who has also realised this. Maybe a while before Peter did. Which is. Some deep pit is opening up inside of Peter, some dark yawning maw, into which all his hope falls, disappearing in the distance. 

“Were you hoping for a cure? To kill me and have the perfect revenge, regain your mortality? It doesn’t work like that. This is it now. Your life. Or un-death. Whichever you prefer. That’s the point. That’s what you get for assuming we are all mindless monsters devouring every human we come across. But we’re not. Well, some of us are. But not all. We’re people, still. Some of us retain more of our morals than others. But you can’t- Can’t judge us as a species. We can choose our actions. As you have, I assume, noticed.”

“Would you like me to kill him now?” Aro asks gently.

“I- I don’t know.”


	59. 2015: Good and Bad Ways to Show Your Concern for Your Loved Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucian is doing like 87% of the emotional heavy lifting in this relationship and he is a tired but loving wolf who has chosen to date exclusively dumb and self involved vampires.

Peter and Charley are in the living room talking, so Lucian tugs softly at Aro's cloak, indicating the kitchen. Peter's senses are better, now, than they were, but he is distracted, and not so good at choosing what to pay attention to and not. He usually, he says, just tries to tune everything out, or he goes into sensory overload. Peter has explained the concept to Lucian, explained that it usually comes along with his anxiety getting bad, and so he can fully understand that it is much worse now that he both receives far more sensory input, and is also going through one of the biggest traumas of his life. Still, the silver lining- or gold lining, Lucian doesn't do well with silver- is that Aro and Lucian can talk without being overheard.

Lucian starts the kettle, getting out a mug and a box of tea bags that has a thin layer of dust on top, and leans into the corner of the counters. Aro follows, planting his hands on Lucian's hips and leaning in to kiss him. It's nice. It's soft lips and just the faintest scrapes of fangs. Lucian suspects that were he human he might have dozens of little parallel scars by his mouth by now.

"What?" Aro asks.

He asks in Italian, which Lucian isn't very good at, so he replies in Romanian. It is rare he gets to speak his own language these days. Perhaps he can teach Peter. It would lessen the temptation to switch, to keep secrets from him. To talk about him as if he is somehow external. Which isn't fair to him, Lucian knows, but he does worry so.

"The human, he told me something?"

"Oh?"

Aro is still deeply in his space, pressing kisses so light they almost tickle to Lucian's throat. He pushes the vampire away, just a little.

"He said Peter had asked him for help to kill himself."

Aro's face falls, settling into something neutral and cold.

"Is that, you think, what they are planning? Ought we to intervene? Because I would be happy to-"

"No," Lucian reassures him, a hand pressed to his cold and still chest, "no, I am confident Charley will not do it. I think he sees that Peter isn't the monster he fears he has become. And also he is afraid we would harm him."

"As he should be," Aro mutters, "I would have his head for it."

Lucian doesn't bother to argue that that's not what Peter would want in such a scenario. He isn't sure he either would be able to forgive a thing like that.

"At least he knows that we would not let him, would not help him with such a thing. Or, I think that is a good thing? Or perhaps, given what we are, and in your case, how long it has been for you, that he believes we would not understand."

Lucian extricates himself from Aro's arms for long enough to pour boiled water into his mug. It smells of spices he had never even heard of until the last century.

"Do you think he will try? On his own, I mean?"

Aro looks genuinely worried, which is somehow terribly reassuring. Not that Lucian thinks he doesn't care, but he doesn't often express feelings like that. Glee and wrath and condescension, yes, but not worry. Not those soft bits of caring about someone that isn't somehow big and demonstrative and dignified by some measure Lucian has never quite understood. He isn't sure he wants to understand. Thinks it is more because of the position Aro occupied for so terribly long than his age or the time from which he comes.

"I do not think we can rule it out," Lucian says, soft and sad, though not as much as he feels.

"No? I suppose you are right. I do know he has... tried. Before. And that was before he was careless enough to be turned into the thing he most hates."

Aro sounds somewhat bitter, but it is hard to blame him. Lucian doesn't know that it wouldn't be terribly hard for him if Peter had been bitten by some lycan-adjacent creature, if werewolves were the creatures he hated. However different most other kinds are to lycans.

"Did he- was it... close?"

He doesn't want to know, not really. Doesn't want to think of what might have made his love so unhappy he tried to end himself, what made him lose his faith so entirely in the future. But Aro knows. And Peter knows. And perhaps if Lucian is no longer the odd one out, then he will be able to help. Will understand. And he thinks he will. Because he too has wanted death before. Has wished that he had died rather than have to see Sonja burn. But his responsibility for his pack, for his people was stronger.

"Not terribly. There were... medications. Drugs. Too many of them, but deliberately so. He only succeeded in making himself feel very terrible. But he was disappointed to regain consciousness."

Lucian sips his tea, burns his tongue, and sets the cup down again.

"I am glad, then, that you are here. That you know. And, and it doesn't sound good, I know it doesn't, but that you can watch him. Make sure."

"I know."

Aro pulls him into an embrace, and Lucian leans into it, fingers tangling in the no doubt wildly overpriced fabric of Aro's cloak. Listens to the absence of a heartbeat, feels a hand in his hair.

"I will make sure," Aro promises, "that he does not. However much he may wish to."

"It is not right, I think," Lucian says, arguing with himself, "it is not... what he wants. It is setting our needs above his."

"I am an ancient monster," Aro points out, continuing before Lucian can argue, "I have no moral qualms about surveilling him a little to make sure he does not harm himself too badly."

"He will resent you. And us."

Aro shrugs.

"He already does."

"Me," he adds, "not you. Not for anything but messing up his moral compass and making him doubt himself."

"What," Peter asks from the doorway, "are you two conspiring about?"

Lucian smiles, softly, trying to convey nothing but his love for the newly turned vampire.

"How much we love you," he tells him, which is sort of true.

Peter makes a face.

"Embarrassing. Get why you'd keep that a secret."

He swaggers in, seemingly, at last, in a good mood. Gets a mug and fills it with blood before gently heating it up.

"You want?" He asks Aro, and this too feels like progress.

Perhaps too much. Lucian read somewhere, once, that people who have made the decision to kill themselves often seem lighter and happier in the last while. Their burden lifted by the impending decision. He hopes this is not it. Hopes just that the lightness is his having been reassured that he is not destined to become a murderer, that he is reconnecting with a friend.

"Yes," Aro replies, and takes Peter's mug from him.

"Hey, that one's mine," Peter complains.

"Evil vampire, remember?" Aro replies with a bloody, fanged grin.

Peter rolls his eyes, and starts getting another for himself.

"Just. Since Charley's here," he explains, his voice low so as to presumably not be overheard, "so I won't be, y'know, tempted."

"Good idea," Lucian tells him rather than argue that Peter hasn't ever said he has been tempted by the blood of humans yet, because probably positive feedback is a better way to go.

“Do you think,” Peter asks, watching his mug of blood spin in the microwave, keeping track of the time because microwaving blood is an exact science the failure of which will result in weird slimy lumps of congealed blood jelly, of which Peter is not a fan, “that Charley will like me less or more if I show him how I can turn into a bat?”

“I am sure he will be very impressed,” Aro says, an indulgent smile on his lips that Peter leans in to kiss away.

“Hmm. Tastes bloody.”

“Good?”

Peter makes a non-committal noise.

“I guess. It does, yeah, but… Don’t know. Feels… eurgh. Don’t like liking it. Like… shit. Like being addicted to something you don’t even like, you know?”

“You know,” Aro begins, “I think, if you tried it, you would find that hu-”

“Don’t,” Peter cuts him off.

“Not even like your maker said? Without harming them?”

Peter glares.

“That fucker’s not my maker. That’s the person who deliberately infected me as revenge. Doesn’t make me.”

“You’re right, I am sorry. But my question still stands.”

Peter grabs his mug of blood, drinks and grimaces.

“No. I mean, I get it, yeah, I do. It’s getting what I assume is the good stuff without harming people, without turning them. And of course it’s doing less harm, but it’s just so… so fucking creepy. Like imagine that, sneaking into someone’s room while they’re sleeping like some kind of fucking sleep paralysis demon.”

“You know that idea comes from somewhere, don’t you?”

“That’s not exactly fucking helping, Aro.”

“I know. I am sorry,” Aro tells him, and presses a kiss to his cheek.

He sighs.

“I may not fully agree with your choices, but I do respect them. And your wishes.”

Peter makes a noise, somewhat frustrated still, but there is definite fondness in his face, that much is plain for Lucian to see. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, firmly staring down into his blood to avoid eye contact, regretting his choice, and looking down at the floor instead.

Lucian walks over to him, takes one of his hands in both of his. Squeezes it.

“Go show Charley what a sweet bat you make,” he suggests.

“It is pretty cool,” Peter agrees reluctantly, “yeah. Right.”

He downs the rest of his blood and grimaces. Leans in and kisses Lucian.

“Mm. Yeah. You taste better.”

And then he walks out of the kitchen, and a few moments later they hear a surprised shout from Charley, followed by some very high pitched squeaking noises, and the sound of tiny wings flapping rapidly, and then finally a heavy thump as Peter, Lucian assumes, once again transforms back before landing. It seems more challenging for him. A much more drastic change, of course, than Lucian’s is, both size-wise and anatomically. So much faster, too, which probably makes it both easier and more difficult. He does, though, seem to think of it mostly as a cool fun trick, rather than a part of him. Entirely different to how Lucian feels, but then, he has been what he is for centuries, for his entire life, and not just a few weeks. It makes, perhaps, sense.

-

Lucian’s eyes blink open, his heart beating so terribly fast. His eyes are wet with tears, and he blinks rapidly, trying to banish the image of Sonja’s face crumbling into ash from his mind. No matter how many centuries pass, he still dreams of her, of losing her, several times a month. And part of it, part of it is nice. Because the dreams always starts out with the two of them together, but even in his dreams there is a sort of of knowing, a dread hanging over it, even as he gets to relive the moments they had together. 

He turns to look at Peter, who is sleeping spread across more of the bed than seems necessary. Buries his face in Peter’s hair, inhaling his comforting scent, but keeping his eyes open. Replacing his dead love with his, well, at least undead one. One of his undead ones. Peter makes a noise, shifting away a little. Lucian kisses his forehead, then gets up. Runs a hand through his hair. It’s pretty dark still, so they haven’t been asleep for long. 

From the kitchen there are soft noises, and also an odd smell. Lucian follows it, and finds Aro standing with several containers of blood and some kitchen implements, looking dismayed to have been caught. Lucian narrows his eyes.

“What are you doing with human blood, Aro?”

“A better question is, my sweet wolf, why have you been crying? Are you all right?”

“Dreamt of Sonja’s death again. You know it’s that. It’s always that. But Aro, really, what are you doing with the human blood? You know Peter doesn’t want any here. And that it’s very obvious when you drink i- are you mixing it with the animal blood?”

Aro looks, to the casual observer, completely neutral, but Lucian has known him for centuries. Can smell the guilt on him. 

“I simply think that if he gets it over with, if he tries human blood, he will realise how superior it is. And it will be healthier for him.”

Lucian slumps against the wall. Sometimes he feels as if he is the only rational and sensible person in this relationship, and it is, on occasion, absolutely exhausting. Perhaps it is simply that he falls in love with complete idiots.

“You don’t know that,” he says, too tired to put any anger in it, “and you know Peter wouldn’t forgive you if you tricked him into drinking human blood.”

“He might,” Aro argues, but Lucian can hear in his voice that he knows it’s a terrible idea.

“And just because you want to feed on humans again doesn’t mean you can do that by forcing him to. And besides, there are plenty of vampire species that can survive perfectly fine on animal blood alone. Yours included.”

“He is a vampire. The sooner he faces that the sooner he can come to terms with it. And stop being so upset at being like me.”

Aro tries to keep his voice haughty and superior, but it cracks and softens on the last part, and despite his frustration, Lucian feels bad. 

“I- I understand that that isn’t… That it feels terrible. But you knew this was how he felt, all along.”

“Yes. I had thought, perhaps, his warming up to me had helped.”

“I know. So did I, but I think, perhaps, that we are expecting too much of him too fast in that regard. He has been so very deeply traumatised by vampires.”

“By one vampire. The same one.”

Lucian walks over to Aro, taking the containers of blood that he has been messing with and starts, systematically, to pour them into the sink. Aro makes a noise of protest, but doesn’t argue further. 

“I know, my love, and I understand. You know I don’t share Peter’s views on vampires as a whole. And while I may not be entirely comfortable with you killing humans for food quite so much, I would never ask you to stop. But you are living here, and you did agree to not feed on humans. And I know too that you are used to getting your way, but… If you want this to work, you will have to abstain. Probably for a long while. And probably even for the blood you can get without actually killing the victims.”

“I know. And I do. I just- you know.”

“I do know,” Lucian agrees, running the tap to wash away the remnants of the blood.

He rinses the containers, wanting none of the smell of human blood to linger for Peter to notice come evening. Aro slides his arms around Lucian from behind, the feel of his cold skin making him shiver. He rests his chin on Lucian’s shoulder.

“It is very good,” he murmurs.

“I know, my love. I know. And perhaps, eventually, you can rob blood banks together. But it has been such a short while yet. He needs time. And support. And to not be tricked into doing something that goes against his morals.”

He feels cool lips against the side of his neck. Fingers ghosting over his chest.

“I hope so,” Aro sighs.

Lucian twists in his arms, so their chests are pressed together, so they look into each other’s eyes. It is quiet, except for the soft drone of the air condition, the faint noises of the city below, just starting to wake up. In the lingering pre dawn darkness Aro’s eyes look grey. Lucian still misses the red, sometimes.

“But you can’t do things like this, Aro. You can’t- It has to be an honest relationship. You can’t manipulate him. Or me. I know it’s… That you power makes it so very easy, and that it is what you have always done, but you can’t here. Not now, not with us.”

Aro looks down, away. Doesn’t reply. 

“I know the world is so strange, now. It is for me too. And that- the rules change, and that humans evolve, and we don’t. Not so much. But Peter is of this age, however much he is no longer human. And we have to respect that. I have to respect that. Because I love him. And you.”

He leans in to kiss Aro’s cheek.

“I love you too. And him, I think. And it is… Challenging. And frustrating, that he won’t see. That he hangs on to these incredibly human ideas. I- I think, if he had not been bitten, that I would eventually have become incredibly tempted to turn him, even knowing how he felt. And that, if anything, he would maybe have let you bite him, but never me. So. So I think I thought it would change things faster, his being turned. That he would change his opinion, once he became like me.”

“The amount of integrity is somewhat surprising,” Lucian agrees with a careful smile, “but I do understand how you feel. And he has changed his mind. He changed his mind about you. And it did take some months, yes, but he has. And we just need to give him time to accept himself as the same. You can hate something about yourself without hating others who share that characteristic. And it is better than doing so. Like I used to. I used to hate the wolf part of me. You know this. And it took a lot of work to accept myself and my worth. And we are here for Peter, we can help him, which is more than I had. So it will probably be a faster process. But faster than a century. Not just a few weeks.”

“I suppose you are right, sweet wolf,” Aro agrees, sounding only a little reluctant. 

“Will you tell him?” 

“I won’t,” Lucian replies, “but you should. Not now, I think. He feels terrible enough as it is without feeling betrayed by you. But eventually, yes, you owe him that. When he isn’t thinking about killing himself.”

“All right. I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, i apologise if there is no actual progression or plot in this story, but I literally got to the only end point I planned like twenty chapters ago. I'm just having fun now.  
> also i feel like i should have had significant warnings for suicidal ideation on every Peter pov chapter but tbh that's what my brain is like most of the time, even if the reasons are different. Which isn't an excuse for not tagging triggers. Body horror too, come to think of it, if not terribly intense. Hmm. Anyway.  
> Also i wrote the first third of this on my phone at work and it is currently three am and i have to sleep instead of reading this back and editing. Which honestly is the baseline for this fic by this point so. Shrug emoji.


	60. 2015: Wolfbat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter does his first properly vampiric act, and then is super depressed about it.

Peter is flying. Which is pretty wild. Fucking flying, right? That’s everybody’s dream as a kid. He was never even able to fly in his dreams before, but now he can. It’s pretty fucking cool.

The night is dark, and the moon not quite full. Still, down below Peter, a wolf is running. Well, a lycan. Roughly a wolf. From above the shape of him, running on four legs, looks like it could almost be a regular wolf, only the shape of the head is all wrong, and there is no tail, and the front paws are oddly hand shaped. Better than a normal wolf, definitely. Better than a normal human too. Which is a new feeling for Peter. It used to bother him somewhat. Well. Used to be an intense sense of betrayal and terror, which then developed into reluctance before settling into acceptance, where it lingered for a long time. But Peter is at a point now where he thinks he would really miss it if Lucian decided to stay human indefinitely. He wonders if it’s his own inhumanity that has changed things. He hopes not. Doesn’t like the thought of what that says about him as a person.

Echolocation is weird. He can do it now, can emit sound waves somehow using his nose-leaf, and interpret what they tell him through his absurdly oversized ears. Honestly. It’s like 50% wings, 30% ear, 20% weird fucking nose. That’s all he is right now. He doesn’t know how he does it, much like he doesn’t quite understand how he is sensing blood beneath skin, but he does so. It works. Somehow. He’s done some research on himself. Well, he’s read the wikipedia page and watched a handful of mini documentaries on him. Or, not _his_ wikipedia page, because he does, personally, have one, which he periodically edits with false information just for fun. But the page on vampire bats. Common vampire bats. Not, arguably, the coolest descriptor, but he’s not sure he would have preferred hairy-legged. White-winged, maybe, is the best one of the three. Still. Flying. Weird sound based “vision”. Getting to not have weird creepy yellow eyes for a bit. Decent perks.

Lucian lets out a low growl, slowing down. He looks up at Peter, then raises an arm to point slightly to the left, then holds up three fingers. Which is a sign they agreed on earlier, but Peter cannot for the life of him remember what it meant. Distance? It’s probably distance. Three hundred metres? That might be it. 

They’re out here hunting. Lucian and Aro, teaming up against Peter as they often do- No. That’s not fair. As Peter often perceives they do, because he feels left out by their having centuries of history. So they’re out here hunting, Peter and Lucian, because apparently it will be good for Peter. Finding and hunting prey, but animal prey. Animal prey Peter won’t have to kill, won’t even have to cause pain. Because his spit is a pain killer. Which is also neat. So. Slightly left. Peter uses sound waves and the light of the moon to navigate, and manages not to actually hit anything. Lucian prowls after, down below. Wanting Peter to have a go, before he himself possibly kills and eats Peter’s victim when they’re done with it.

There is a goat. Peter finds it after a while. Turns out, three hundred metres feels longer when you’re only about ten centimetres long. It’s a fluffy one, and he pre-emptively feels bad. And that’s messed up too. Would he feel this if it wasn’t fluffy and cute? It is sleeping, which will help with his stealth. He flutters down to the ground, and does his weird little run closer. It feels weird, using what is essentially the sides of his thumbs to walk, but it works. He finds a spot, by the goat’s leg, and uses his weird Nosferatu style incredibly sharp front teeth to slice away some of the fur, and then hesitates. He has shot at vampires before, staked them, but other than being forced to go fishing once he hasn’t really hurt an animal before. Well, other than mosquitoes, with now he has more than he would like in common with.

Okay. Deep breath. He slices into the skin, and waits for a moment as the blood starts to bead, and then he starts to lick it up. And it’s good. It’s upsettingly good. It’s horribly much better than the blood that’s been in his freezer for weeks. Which begs, of course, the question of how better, then, than this, is human blood? It is something Peter firmly intends never to learn.

He hops down after a few minutes, and the goats appears not to have noticed anything. Peter, however, has heard the soft sounds of paws on dirt, and when he turns, Lucian is a few metres around him, crouched down low. The wolf face does not facilitate supportive questioning expressions, but Peter knows him pretty well by now. So he launches himself into the air, flying closer and sort of crash landing on top of Lucian’s head. He uses his weird sort of hand part to try to pet Lucian. It doesn’t really work, so instead he curls his claws into Lucian’s fur, and buries his little head in it so he won’t have to watch as Lucian tears the goat to pieces. But he can still hear. And still smell. But having one’s head crushed in one’s sleep must be one of the less horrible ways to go. At least it’s quick. 

They get back to the car a few hours before dawn, and Peter launches himself into the air, transforming back in the process and attempting a cool looking landing. Once again he fails pathetically, landing on his ass. Well. He needs practise, clearly. He looks up at Lucian, who kindly isn’t laughing, although possibly mostly because lycan wolf mouths aren’t physically capable of laughter. 

“Shut up,” he tells Lucian, just in case.

He gets up and walks back to Lucian, leaning into his warm and fluffy chest. There is blood and gore in his fur still, but this too bothers Peter less than it used to. He stretches up until he can kiss Lucian’s cheek, which is gradually lowering, fur disappearing and becoming hair and beard. The hand on Peter’s hip growing softer, claws turning into blunt nails.

“What do you think?” Lucian asks when his face is almost entirely human looking, only pale eyes and sharp fangs lingering.

Peter makes an uncomfortable noise.

“Blood good,” he hesitantly concludes, “attacking living beings feels bad.”

Lucian tilts his head.

“But it doesn’t hurt the animal. You can’t even transmit rabies. Probably. No more than a mosquito harms a human it stings. Presuming a lack of malaria, at any rate.”

Peter makes a face.

“Please don’t compare me to a fucking mosquito, Lucian.”

“Sorry.”

“Neh. Eh. Gah,” Peter mutters incoherently, and looks down. 

This action has the positive effect of reminding him Lucian is naked, if still covered in blood and a few loose strands of fur that have gotten stuck in the gore running down his chest. Peter blames feeling that this is a good look on him on his new vampirism.

“It’s better,” he allows, “it feels better, more right, but I don’t like that it does. Don’t like what that says about how much, purely physically of course, how much better human blood would be. Makes me feel like everything I fear is true.”

“It isn’t,” Lucian promises with his still inhuman face, “wanting to do something bad, something you feel is bad, doesn’t make you a bad person, doesn’t make you a monster. You know the thing you fear that you want is bad, and therefore you don’t do it. I think that makes you a good person.”

Peter squirms because it sounds reasonable, what Lucian is saying. It sounds sensible, but it also sounds like an excuse. Like an idea Peter likes because it takes the responsibility away from himself. Because it would let him do what he wants. Would let him be happy with Lucian and Aro. Would let him just be.

“But,” he argues, “if I define myself as a good person, if I make that be a thing that is true about me, then doesn’t that make it so much easier for me to slip? To say this bad thing is an okay thing because if I’m a good person then I can define my actions as good?”

“If you worry about it this much,” Lucian points out, “you’re probably going to be fine. You haven’t attacked people, right? Have you wanted to?”

“Only my manager,” Peter allows, “and for entirely non vampiric reasons.”

“Well, there you go, then.”

Lucian shivers, briefly, and Peter starts guiltily. He can feel temperature still, but almost as an abstract concept, not something that really affects him. So they retreat back into the car. Lucian tugs his clothes back on, and Peter finds a thin blanket he covers them with as they sit halfway facing each other in the back seat. He wishes he could provide some warmth, but his skin is as cold as the spring night in the desert.

Lucian uses the sleeve of his hoodie, borrowed from Peter, to wipe some of the blood from his face. It has settled into the appearance of humanity properly, now, fangs gone, eyes softened into dark greys. Peter leans into him, resting his head in the crook of Lucian’s neck, wrapping an arm around him.

“You know, Charley told me something,” Lucian says, and Peter feels his stomach drop.

“Yeah?” he asks, trying not to sound as worried as he feels.

“That you asked him to do.”

“Ah.”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about that?”

“Honestly?” Peter asks looking up at Lucian, “not really.”

“Do you really feel so badly about yourself?”

“I mean, yeah? Now I do. Used to, before, long time ago. For different reasons. Worse reasons. Don’t hate myself for those things any more, that was just me internalising the reasons why other people hated me, but this? You know, becoming… becoming this thing. This weird animated corpse, it’s different. It’s literally everything I’ve based my life around hating.”

Lucian’s arms tighten around Peter, and he feels a kiss to the top of his head. Can feel how worried Lucian is, how scared for him. And it’s reassuring.

“I do understand that,” Lucian begins, “but you’ve changed so much in the past years. Past year in particular. The way you’ve gone from resenting Aro to accepting him, to- well. You know. And I don’t understand how you can accept him, and his ability to change, but not your own.”

Peter shifts, pulling away from Lucian and scooting over to the other side of the back seat, hugging his knees to his chest.

“It’s different,” he insists, “he… I don’t know. Part of it, I think, is me being able to just pretend that the past three thousand something years didn’t happen. Which is very easy, it’s completely absurd to think about. I haven’t- everything I’ve seen him do, everyone I’ve seen him kill has been in defence of the two of us. And even his feeding off me, which was terrifying at the time, I get that. I understand that he needed to, and also that he didn’t really have enough control or whatever to tell me first or ask. And knowing that he has killed people is just… It’s theoretical. Like you. It’s so much time, and numbers that are just… It’s hard to grasp. And he doesn’t act like a monster. Like an asshole, yes, frequently, but being condescending and bitchy isn’t the same as being a monster, a predator. And also it’s a lot easier to think the best of other people rather than yourself, you know?”

Lucian is watching him, looking as if he is trying so hard to understand. He is illuminated from behind by the moon light, but Peter’s dark vision is good enough, these days, that he can see his face clearly anyway. The car is parked a few hundred meters away from where the proper road ends, and there is nothing outside other than rocks and dust. Peter is terribly aware of how alone they are, and normally it would make him anxious, but there is nothing out there stronger and scarier than the two of them.

“I am not entirely sure that I do, I’m sorry. But I will try. But I just want you to know that you are so very deeply loved, Peter, and wanted, and so worthy of that. And I- I don’t want to say this to make you feel guilty, but I don’t know that I could bear it if you- ended it.”

Peter wishes very badly that he were anywhere else right now, talking about anything else. He knows Lucian has lost Sonja, knows exactly how badly that hurt him, but it feels unfair that that should make Peter a bad person for killing himself, which is his right.

“You would,” Peter insists, “you and Aro have each other. You would be fine.”

“No,” Lucian says quietly, “no I would not.”

Peter moves closer again, pulls Lucian into a hug.

“I’m sorry I’m not dealing with this as well as you want,” he murmurs into Lucian’s hair, “I know you deserve better, but-”

“Don’t,” Lucian interrupts.

“Sorry. But just- I promise it’s not that I don’t love you enough, not that you’re not supportive enough, because you are. More than I deserve, more than I could hope for, but it’s… I don’t think it’s about that. It’s about how I feel. But you help. You do, even if I’m not good enough at telling you that. You both help. And I am very grateful, but the inside of me is a black hole, and sometimes every good thing gets sucked into it. And then all that is left is dead flesh and depression.”

Lucian looks heartbroken, and Peter feels terribly guilty, and then angry at himself for feeling guilty. 

“I hate this,” he adds, “I hate feeling like this. Hate being like this. I hate that I am in the best relationship I’ve ever been in and that instead of enjoying and appreciating it I am spending my time hating myself and becoming a monster. And maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m not doomed to eventually become a monster. Maybe I can be like this, undead but still essentially me. But it doesn’t feel like it. Not yet. Maybe what I need is just time. Time to get used to the idea and accept it, but it doesn’t feel likely, not right now.”

“Then, please, will you give it time? Give yourself a chance?”

His tone is pleading and it hurts Peter’s soul, if he still has one of those. If he ever did.

“I will try,” he tells him, because he doesn’t think he can promise more than that.

“Thank you.”

Peter feels bad. Guilty and awkward and undeserving and just bad. And he doesn’t want to look Lucian in the eye any more, and then he realises he doesn’t have to. He closes his eyes and frowns, briefly, and then he is small, and winged, and incapable of having complex facial expressions.

“Oh,” Lucian says, “all right. I suppose I’m driving back, then?”

Peter uses his little hooked claws to climb over the blanket and up Lucian’s jumper until he can settle between Lucian’s neck and his hair and the hood, feeling warm and safe and slightly less vaguely upset. A finger strokes the fur along his back very carefully.

“If it makes you feel better,” Lucian says softly, “I understand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have work in four and a half hours and haven't slept yet, so I too would quite like to die.


	61. 2015: No One is doing well tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucian has a request for Peter

The moon is bright and nearly full, casting its light down upon Castle Corvinus and its many towers. It is atop one of these that Lucian waits, crouched in the shadows, wary of any movement, any noise from the guards down below. He catches something out of the corner of his eye, something flickering past, and watches for a moment as a few tiny bats dive around, looking for insects before settling in to sleep away the day in their favourite tower.

“Lucian-“

Her voice is soft, but still startles him. He should have heard her arrive, but she does move quietly, is trained at stealth. And if there is anyone he doesn’t mind getting the better of him at all, it is Sonja.

“My lady,” he breathes, stunned once more at her radiant beauty in the moonlight.

He always is. She has that effect on people. They haven’t been meeting up here for long, only a few months, and still he is utterly astounded that she feels anything at all similar to how he feels about her. That a beautiful vampire princess would even notice a mere lycan slave like himself, however much he may be the favourite one. She smiles at him, and he decides once more that he would lay down his life for her.

He rises, goes to meet her, grasps her hand and kisses it. She laughs, and leans in to kiss him properly, on the mouth. Her lips are soft and cool and there is the faintest lingering taste of blood. He runs his tongue across her sharp fangs, and lets himself melt into her as she starts to loosen the ties on his trousers.

“My love,” he begins, but comes no further.

There is a stone in the pit of his stomach, a heavy dread that he cannot explain. She takes his hand in hers and places it on the toned skin of her stomach.

“I have something to tell you, my love.”

The certainty sets in, then. It is undefined, yet still so painful. It always is. He can feel the faint hint of movement, though of course it is far too early for anything in there to be moving yet.

“I am with child,” she tells him, her eyes dark and intense as they look into his.

“I- Sonja, that is-“

“Our child. A union of our species. Can you imagine how perfect they will be?”

And that is how far she gets before she collapses, cleaved in two by Viktor’s broadsword. He has appeared behind her, gaze dark and horrible and filled with hatred. He lifts the sword once more, and the moment the silver edged metal plunges into Lucian’s neck, he wakes up.

Lucian is sweaty and uncomfortable, breathing heavily. He mutters a curse in Romanian, and rubs his eyes. Peter is curled up next to him, still fast asleep, arms wrapped tightly around a pillow. He is entirely motionless when he sleeps these days, but at least the pose makes him look more alive. Lucian has woken more than once and briefly panicked when he hasn’t been able to hear Peter’s breathing, his heartbeat, before he remembers. Still, it is a small price to pay for not losing him to the ravages of time.

Aro isn’t here, so Lucian must have slept a few hours. He usually gets in bed with them, but inevitably gets bored of watching them sleep after a while, and gets up to do whatever it is he does all night. Lucian kisses Peter’s cheek, and he makes a sort of garbled noise in response.

Lucian finds Aro in the living room, sparkling gently in the late morning sunlight as he reads. Golden eyes look up as he approaches, and Lucian settles wordlessly down next to him, leaning his head on Aro’s shoulder.

“You are awake early,” Aro says, as Lucian shivers despite the warmth of the flat.

“Do you think,” Lucian asks, “that the humans have invented drugs that make you unable to dream yet? That they would work on us?”

“I don’t know, but do you really think you would prefer it? Is it not better to see her, even if the dreams always end badly?”

Lucian shrugs, and pulls at Aro’s arm, draping it around his shoulder.

“Perhaps. But to see her die every time, it’s… It has been over six centuries now, and it still isn’t getting better. I still feel her loss as keenly each time my mind forces me to relive some version of it. The loss of our child, too. And I can’t help but wonder what she would have thought of this time, about the future. About you and Peter, too, whether she would have approved. What she would have thought of the way I took care of my pack until- until I failed. But then again, if she lived, perhaps there would have been no war. Or a shorter one. Perhaps our child could have united our people. And every time, every time there is the overwhelming unfairness of it. The injustice of her death, her being ripped away so fast.”

Aro pulls him into an embrace, and kisses his cheek.

“I am sorry, my sweet wolf. From our brief meeting she seemed a sweet and lovely young woman, and I am still, always, sorry for your loss.”

Lucian murmurs his thanks into the fabric of Aro’s shirt.

“I can’t help but feel I’ve failed her,” he says, “I was so close, in Budapest, twelve years ago. I had found the compatible blood, injected it into myself and- and Kraven fucked it all up. And perhaps those two, Michael and Selene, perhaps they managed it, but I cannot know for certain if it worked. If he became a hybrid.”

“I don’t think she would feel you have failed her,” Aro tells him, voice gentle, “you have done the best you can for your people for so long, and these last years you have had some measure of peace. No heavy burden weighing on your shoulders any more. And you deserve that. She would understand.”

“I hope you are right.”

-

“And yeah, I’ve been uuh. Sick. Ill. Deathly. ‘S why I’ve not been at the sessions for a bit.”

“It has been a month and a half, Peter.”

Peter squirms in front of the screen. He’s managed to get his therapist to agree to video chat sessions, and he is sitting in the guest room/office/until recently Aro’s room, letting some sunlight into the room but avoiding any of it touching his skin. Just to give the impression he is up during the day. The lighting is awful, so at least he has an excuse for looking dead.

“Been a tough time,” he insists.

“Yes? Is that something you’re comfortable talking about?”

He shrugs, pulls at a loose thread in his sleeve.

“Sure, yeah. So I got… injured. It was work related, a stunt gone wrong. Couldn’t work for two weeks. Producers furious with me, as if it was my fault. Well, guess it was, partly. And I… feel really guilty about it.”

“For disappointing your fans?”

Peter hesitates. He hasn’t been able to find a good analogy to explain the actual emotions in what has happened in a way that does not include the concept of vampires. It’s difficult to find an alternate way of saying that he has become the thing he hates the most.

“Something like that, I suppose, yeah. I’ve… Well, the reason I’m trying again, tried to get this session is I’ve been doing worse. I mean, physically obviously, though I’m better now, but… I’ve been pretty suicidal again. And it does seem to be upsetting my boyfriends, and so I promised them I would… would try. Attempt to get better. Give being alive a chance, because much as I feel certain they’ll have each other, be all right without me, I think maybe I owe it to them to try, you know?”

“Well,” his therapist replies through the grainy screen, she must have a terrible webcam, “that is a good approach to have. The willingness to try, I mean. It is obviously concerning that you feel this way, but as long as you are reaching out, as long as you do try, I think that that is a good sign.”

“It’s mostly guilt,” Peter points out.

“It doesn’t matter why, not so much. As long as you have a reason, a motivation to stay alive, that’s the important thing. And if that motivation is your multiple boyfriends telling you to, I think that should be a fairly efficient motivator.”

“I did ask someone I know to kill me. But he refused.”

“I should hope so! Was it a serious request?”

“Course. Wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t. Except maybe as a joke.”

She looks at him for a moment, and he can’t tell if it’s deliberate or whether his screen has frozen again. He twines the cord of his headset around his fingers, and suddenly feels transported back to a time when he would do the same with the curled cord of a telephone, decades ago. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t enjoy reminders of his past. For one reason or another they are usually bad.

“Well, I don’t think that is something you should ask of someone. Not only for your sake, but also for theirs.”

“Sure. Right. Won’t do it again, promise.”

“It’s not me it matters to.”

“Yeah, no, I know. It’s… yeah.”

The rest of session isn’t very productive, what with his being unable to tell her what is actually going on, and her insisting that avoiding negative self-talk is an important step. No it’s fucking not. Not being a vampire is an important step. But he does have to try. For Lucian. For Aro. And the tiniest little bit for himself, maybe.

A few minutes after he’s closed the window, Lucian comes in, and sits down next to him on the floor. Peter leans into him, closing his eyes.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

“Was it helpful?”

“Eeh. Hard for it to be, I think, when I can’t actually say what the problem is. There’s no great metaphor for vampirism that I can think of, that works. So I’ve just told her about wanting to kill myself and stuff, and wanting to maybe not want to do that quite so much.”

“That does sound like a start,” Lucian agrees.

“Have you considered simply telling her the truth and claiming it to be a metaphor for what is really going on? Given your history I imagine that you using vampirism as a metaphor wouldn’t be too unlikely.”

“Huh. I have not, but hey, maybe that works. Not as if she’s gonna think I’m being literal. Although, speaking of, are there not supernatural therapists? Given how long you- we live, surely there is enough trauma to be a market?”

Lucian frowns.

“Not that I know of. Although, of course, changing that would be easy. I could simply find your therapist and bite her…”

“Absolutely not,” Peter protests, and Lucian laughs.

“Only a suggestion.”

“Mm. Sure.”

He kisses the nearest available part of Lucian, which happens to be his shoulder.

“You doing okay?”

Lucian blinks.

“Yes. Why?”

“Well, you both keep worrying about me. Figure I should try to be less wrapped up in myself and worry about you instead. Distract myself.”

“Oh. Ah, good? Maybe?”

“I don’t know either,” Peter says with a shrug.

“Well,” Lucian says, “I actually had something I wanted to bring up, to talk to you about. Ask you to do, actually. And I recognise that you may not want to, and that is fine, but I do hope you will hear me out.”

Peter frowns. He can’t imagine Lucian wanting to make him to something bad.

“You know I would do anything for you.”

Lucian hesitates, as if he’s about to disprove this. Peter turns to face him, can see how anxious he is, and he feels bad.

“Would you bite me?” Lucian asks.

“What, Lucian, the fuck?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I prioritised my other fic for a bit but as I lay unable to sleep before work tonight I had a bunch of ideas for this one, and I'm only 3 hours into my 7.5 hour shift and have fuck all to do so maybe I'll manage to type out the next chapter too, today.


	62. 2015: Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter demands what the actual fuck is going on, reasonably.

“I want you to bite me.”

“What, Lucian, the fuck? Like, in the bedroom? That’s what you mean, right? Be a bit rougher during sex?”

“Err. No, but if that is something you would like, Peter, I would not be opposed. No, I mean. You know. In a vampiric sense.”

“Why? No! Why? What the fuck, Lucian, why would you ask me that?”

“Will you hear me out?” Lucian asks, and his voice is very calm, if still a little strained, which is a contrast to Peter’s, which is decidedly high pitched and slightly frantic.

“I- sure. Tell me your crazy idea- whatever the fuck it is, but don’t- don’t make me do something like this. Don’t make me kill you.”

Lucian looks a little hurt, and Peter feels a stab of guilt, but honestly what the actual fuck was he expecting.

“I’ve told you, have I not, of my desire to unite our two species? How that has been my way to honour the family I lost my chance to have?”

Peter has a feeling of creeping dread, of intensely physical worry.

“You have,” he allows.

“And it has been worrying me, lately. The feeling that I have failed them. That I have simply given up, and I owe it to them to- to complete what I started. What we started.”

“Lucian, I love you, and I don’t mean this badly, but that’s stupid. They would want you to live, to be happy, not to sacrifice and hurt yourself in some pointless quest.”

Lucian takes a breath. Looks hurt. Peter’s cold, dead heart clenches.

“It’s a way to try to work past centuries of war,” he insists.

“For whom? The war is over. You are here, and as far as you’ve told me the factions are scattered or gone. You are safe and you don’t have to keep fighting a war that is over. No one won, and I get that that is frustrating and feels bad, feels sort of pointless, wasted, but do you really think it’s going to make a difference?”

“It will to me.”

Peter buries his face in his hands, rubs at his eyes. The contacts of human disguise are uncomfortable. Lucian’s request is even more so.

“Why are you even asking me? I’m sure Aro would gnaw on you with no issue, would be honoured you want his …condition.”

“Oh, Peter, we’ve tried. We are immune to each other’s condition, as you call it. Besides, I am not sure I would feel comfortable glittering like that.”

Peter groans.

“Well what makes you think it’ll be different with me? Doesn’t that just mean that all vampires and lycans are immune to each other?”

“Well no,” reasons Lucian, “because there are different species that interact in different ways. And Aro’s form of vampirism is far more different from me than yours. For one you’re still made of human matter, you are closer to human than he. And you too can change your shape, that is something we have in common, something that might indicate that we are, I suppose, biologically somewhat closer, more compatible. It would, of course, be easier with a Corvinid vampire, yes, but I would rather someone I care for do it.”

“I- fuck. Sure, yeah. Suppose that makes a sort of sense.”

They are quiet for a little while, leaning against each other, lost in thought. Peter doesn’t want Lucian to change, doesn’t want him to die. Doesn’t want everything and everyone in his life to be vampires.

“I understand that it is not something you want to do, my love, but it is important to me. I do hope you will at least consider it.”

“What on earth makes you think that’s something I would agree to, Lucian?”

“Your recent statement that you would do anything for me, just ten minutes ago?” he suggests, then holds up a hand before Peter has the chance to protest.

“I know, I know. But please, think it over. It is not something I ask lightly, Peter, I hope you understand that. I know… I know how it must seem.”

“If you know, why would you ask?” he shoots back.

-

“What the fuck?” Peter asks Aro.

“I’m sorry?”

“Lucian asked me to turn him into a vampire.”

“Surely he asked you to bite him in the hopes of at last attaining the status of a vampire lycan hybrid?” Aro suggests, like a smug pedantic idiot.

“You fucking know what I mean, you smug pedantic idiot.”

“I do,” Aro admits.

“And what is the issue?” he adds, as if he hasn’t definitely one hundred percent heard the entire conversation.

“You fucking know what it is. I’ve not exactly accepted being what I am yet, and now he’s asking me to kill him?”

“He is asking you to help fulfil a quest at which he has worked for centuries.”

“By killing him.”

“Only, if at all, in the sense that you and I are dead.”

“Yes?”

“Yes? And we are hardly unmoving, decaying corpses, are we?”

“Weeeeell.”

“If anything you were decaying in a much more real sense when you were human. Slowly dying, your cells ceasing to regenerate, your body losing its resilience.”

“Hey,” Peter protests, although arguably Aro is correct, but only in a very technical way.

He goes through his daily ritual of watching both disgusted and mesmerised as his mug of blood spins in the microwave, being heated as gently as the radiation will allow. Aro is sitting at the island, reading a no doubt terribly expensive imported Italian newspaper for any hint at what may be going on in the supernatural world, filtered through the impression of the human press. As far as Peter knows, there are no great new developments, merely continued scheming and counter-scheming.

The microwaves dings, and Peter grabs the mug, inhaling the sweet and repulsive scent of hot blood. He hates craving and needing and enjoying something that disgusts him so. Like smoking, but worse. Only opposite, knowing it is what he needs to survive. And look. He’s English. It’s not like he’s a complete stranger to eating foods containing animal blood, so technically this is just an incredibly specific diet consisting of one ingredient he only very occasionally previously consumed, rather than something entirely new. It’s not like it’s human blood, but fuck he still hates it.

He has started sensing it, if he’s not good enough about eating before he has work, has a performance. That when he’s close enough to his co-stars he can sense their blood. Can practically see it through the skin, like some sort of freak heat sensor. Which makes sense, because that’s a thing vampire bats can do, and evidently that is the thorough theme of the brand of vampirism he has.

“I just don’t understand why he would ask something like that of me,” he continues, having finished his blood and his having deeply mixed feelings about it.

“Because he loves and trusts you and thinks that you will mind less if you’re the one doing it, if he becomes more like you,” Aro says without looking up from his paper.

Peter leans down on the counter, the cool marble feeling nice against his cheek. Somehow, Lucian and Aro both make it sound almost reasonable, rather than a horrible murder request. Which, okay, he’s a little bit seeing how they feel about his asking Charley to kill him, but that’s completely different, isn’t it? Sort of. Although arguably not in the way that leaves Peter standing as the most reasonable one.

“But he knows I’m not exactly comfortable with being…” he gestures at himself.

“Like me?” Aro suggests, because of course he does.

“A vampire,” Peter says, quietly insistent at Aro not making this about him.

“He does,” Aro agrees, “and perhaps he thinks this might help. In addition to, as you know, fulfilling his vow to his long dead love.”

“I don’t understand,” Peter grumbles, “how you are both managing to make me feel guilty about not wanting to infect him with vampirism. It’s not a good thing.”

“You do seem to enjoy the flying,” Aro points out, “would you deny Lucian the possibility of learning to fly?”

“What? I- yes! Because I want at least one of us to be alive! To have some sense of connection to the world.”

“You’ve changed your life almost not at all since being bitten,” Aro observes, “I’m not sure how much more connected you could want to be.”

“I can’t go out in the daytime any more, not without hiding in the shadows.”

“You got a bad sunburn after half an hour. If you cover up you will be fine. Or perhaps move somewhere that isn’t in the middle of a desert.”

“I have to drink blood.”

“From animals. And Lucian already does that sometimes.”

“What if he regrets it?”

Aro sighs, folding his paper and putting it away.

“Lucian has had centuries to think about this, my love. He knows what he wants.”

“What if I hurt him?”

Peter says this far more quietly, and he hears the scrape of the bar stool’s legs against the floor, then feels Aro’s hands on his shoulders. His voice, when it comes, is much closer.

“I very much doubt you would, Peter. He has been alive for centuries. He has survived so very much, and he is so very strong. I don’t think you could hurt him, this way or any other, even if you want to. Not, at the very least, without those horrid silver weapons that nearly killed him. But hopefully those are all lost or destroyed.”

“I guess,” Peter mutters, and lets himself be tugged up and into Aro’s comforting embrace.

Aro kisses him, soft and gentle, licking a stray droplet of blood from his lips. Peter leans into him, burying his face against Aro’s neck and allowing himself to be comforted. Again, he is forced to appreciate how much more alive Aro feels now that he too is a vampire. Warm and soft and almost as if there is an echo of a beating heart in there somewhere.

“Is it selfish of me, not to want to help him?” he asks, feeling rather helpless.

“Perhaps a little, but I don’t think there is anything wrong with that.”

“Well, you wouldn’t, would you.”

“Peter, please. I’m trying to be helpful.”

“Sorry,” he mutters into Aro’s hair.

“I understand why you don’t want to, and so does he, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still wish that you would.”

“Mm. And what do you think? Do you want him to be a vampire? Or hybrid, whatever?”

“I want him to be whatever he wants to be,” Aro explains, turning to press a kiss to Peter’s hair, “and although I of course love him for what he is, I wouldn’t mind him being… I suppose more similar to me. Unless it means he loses his ability to turn into his more wolfish side. I would miss that.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, “I would too. He is the cutest giant terrifying wolf creature I know. And I suppose that’s part of it too. I mean, he’s told me how hard is was to accept himself for what he was, that vampires weren’t inherently better than him. And I can’t help but think that if he wants to be a vampire, then does that mean he isn’t doing well? That he has somehow changed his mind. He’s never mentioned this before, not to me. Not like this.”

“Yes, but I think perhaps at least part of that is his knowing your hatred for our kind. And- let me finish, Peter. And now that you are a vampire too, perhaps he thinks you will accept it more easily. Now you are one, and now that you have accepted me too. But I do understand your concern for him. But this has been, well, his priority at least part of the time for centuries, even if it is not something he has been comfortable talking to you about, except perhaps in the past tense.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I am right. I have read his mind numerous times. Not admittedly, for the last several weeks, but I would like to think that after knowing him for centuries I have at least some grasp of the wolf’s motivations.”

He says this so haughtily that Peter can’t help but laugh, and Aro smiles. Bastard. Making him feel better entirely against his will. Fine, he announces to himself. He will think about it. Perhaps it ought to be Lucian’s choice, rather than his. Perhaps it isn’t a fair thing to deny him, however much it will pain Peter, however wrong the idea feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today the city has paid me to sit in a comfy chair drinking coffee and writing fanfiction for seven and a half hours and I for one think that's very sexy of them. But also my back hurts so maybe they should prioritise buying better chairs. Anyway. Hope this is making sense and apologies if I've accidentally referred to someone as Aziraphale or Crowley, writing for different fics in the same day makes my brain confused, and I caught myself doing it like three times so far.


	63. 2015: Let Me Sink My Teeth Into You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucian gets his way

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Peter, I’m sure.”

Peter uses his incredibly sharp teeth to slice into Lucian’s skin, and gets his first taste of lycan blood.

-

It has been two weeks since Lucian asked Peter to bite him, and about five days since he relented and agreed to do so. He has, at last, been persuaded that if this is what Lucian really wants, who is Peter to tell someone what they can or cannot do to their body to feel the way they would like to. That would be pretty hypocritical of him. So he had sat Lucian down and said that if he was really, really, really very completely sure, then fine. Peter will bite him. And then he had proceeded to spend the next few days asking him approximately twenty times an hour whether he is, in fact, sure, until Aro told him off.

So today, on the night of the new moon, just in case that has any effect, if the greatest distance to the full moon will allow the vampirism to take hold better, Lucian has gotten ready. Is wearing a tank top that gives good access to his neck. Peter had suggested that another spot might, perhaps, be less conspicuous, but Lucian, being, after all, raised by vampires, however cruelly, has strong opinions. Has to be the neck. 

“We’ll match,” he argues, although Peter would really prefer to forget the bite scar on his neck.

If it was Lucian’s, he wouldn’t mind it, much like he doesn’t mind the scar on his arm from where Aro fed on him, not any more, but the imprint of a stranger’s teeth, his killer’s teeth, it makes him uncomfortable. He wonders whether if he tried to tattoo over it that would work. But, perhaps, if this works, if his bite can turn Lucian, then maybe Lucian can bite him, can cover that scar with one of his own, can make him, if not more human, then at least less vampire. He hasn’t mentioned this thought, but he can admit, if only to himself, that it is part of the reason he agreed.

They have a lot of discussions about how this will work, if Lucian will, like Peter, no longer be able to spend any significant amount of time in sunlight, although both Lucian and Aro remain convinced this will not be an issue. They talk about the possibility of perhaps moving on, to somewhere less sunny. In a few years, of course. When Peter can no longer pass of his not ageing as just good moisturising habits. It’s a weird feeling, planning for a future. He never has been good at it, being able to visualise any sort of future for himself, beyond very specific things he want to do. And after he got his show, well, why would he want anything else? But these days he is starting to come to terms with the fact that he will outlive his show, rather than the other way around, as he has always thought.

He’s sitting in Lucian’s lap, now, looking into those soft warm grey eyes, and thinking that if they go the same weird yellow as his own he is going to miss them. Not, of course, that eye colour is the most important thing. Lucian has expressed that he misses Aro’s red eyes, but Peter definitely prefers the golden ones. But then, for Aro, the eyes are indicative of how much murder he is doing, and as they all know that’s more important to Peter than the rest of them. 

“Are you okay?” Lucian asks, looking up at Peter, a hand resting on his hip.

“To be honest? Not really. But I promised you, and this is what you want, and I am going to do this for you. If you’re sure.”  
“I am,” Lucian promises, “still.”

“He has been quite vocally sure about it the last few dozen times you asked,” Aro points out.

He is watching them with a curious mixture of interest and boredom. Perhaps one is more artificial than the other. 

“Just want to make sure,” Peter mutters, placing a hand on Lucian’s scruffy, perfect jaw, leaning in to kiss him, light and soft.

“I know,” Lucian tells him.

“I love you, Lucian, so, so much,” Peter tells him, with as much intensity as he can manage.

“I know. I love you too. Both of you.”

“It’s nice some think to include me,” Aro says pointedly, and when Peter looks over his almost unnaturally red lips are pulling into a smug little smirk.

“Love you too, asshole,” Peter tells him, “but I’m not about to kill you, am I?”

“Not right now, no,” Aro allows.

“Love you too,” he adds, “plural.”

Lucian’s smile in response is sweet and gentle and Peter can’t help but throw his arms around him, bury his face in his long hair. He feels Lucian hold him close in response. And he can always do that, can always make Peter feel safe, and like everything is going to be okay. He feels the sofa shift under them, and then Aro’s hand on his shoulder, closer now.

“It’s going to be okay,” Aro tells him, uncharacteristically kind and reassuring, “he is so old, and so strong, and has survived so much, you are not going to hurt him.”

“Okay,” Peter murmurs, “okay. I’m ready. I think I’m ready. You?”

“Yes,” Lucian confirms.

Peter leans back, and Aro darts in to kiss Lucian, very briefly. 

“For good luck,” he explains, then kisses Peter too.

Peter wants, briefly, to argue, but he can recognise that he is stalling now, and he has already promised Lucian he will do this, so there isn’t much point in putting it off any longer. He carefully drapes Lucian’s hair out of the way, then leans down towards the base of his neck. The very vampire placement for a bite, but then that’s what Peter is now. And what, if everything goes right, Lucian will be. Sort of. Partly. Hybridly.

The skin it soft, smells like safety, like home, like love. Peter runs a finger over the spot, somehow, despite his vast experience with vampires, not entirely sure how to start. He bares his fangs, feels through whatever weird sense for the best spot, where the blood is easiest to get to. 

“Are you sure?” he asks again, and his voice sounds odd, because his teeth are shifting.  
His two front teeth are extending, sharpening, turning into a something between Nosferatu and the bifurcated triangle that are his bat front teeth, sharper than his regular fangs.

“Yes, Peter, I’m sure,” Lucian tells him again, patiently. 

And so Peter uses his terribly sharp fangs to slice open Lucian’s skin, and gets his first taste of lycan blood.

It is not quite what he expected. It’s a lot different than animal blood, but it doesn’t taste quite right. It’s certainly not the sort of horrifyingly addictive taste he has feared human blood has, which is good. Aro has warned him that the taste of lycan blood is going to be strange, a mixture of human and animal, but Peter really hasn’t had enough experience to find it anything other than odd. It isn’t a bad taste, he doesn’t have to force himself to drink, but he also doesn’t think he will have trouble stopping.

Lucian is making odd little noises, his hands tangling in Peter’s hair. It’s something between pain and arousal somewhere, and Peter wonders if there are other ways he can make his love sound like this. He hears Aro take a breath next to them, can feel his hands hover to his side, as if not quite sure if he should disturb the two of them.

Peter relies on instinct to tell him when he has had enough. His body, he thinks, ought to know how to do this stuff. So he pulls back after a little while. The wound continues to dribble blood, and Aro swipes a finger through it and licks it off in the lewdest way possible, and Peter can’t help but laugh. It doesn’t take long, though, for the skin to begin to slowly knit itself together.

“You okay?” Peter asks, and though Lucian looks quite pale, understandably, he nods.

So Peter holds his own left wrist up to his mouth, using the sharp teeth that still linger, on which he has almost cut his tongue three times so far, and slices a line in, parallel to some very old and barely visible scars. He hisses as the blood wells up, and holds it out to Lucian, who grabs his arm and latches on.

Despite Peter having been bitten and drained by vampires before, this feels very strange. Perhaps it is because it’s Lucian, or because he knows he is safe. Because Aro watches them hungrily from the side. Peter kisses the top of Lucian’s head, holding him close, and feeling a mix of unsettling emotions about this whole situation. Something about it feels very uncomfortably right, and he doesn’t like that.

Lucian pulls back after a while, and his fangs are out, now, and his eyes wide and pale blue. There is blood in his beard, dripping from his sharpened teeth, and fuck, that’s kind of hot. Lucian loosens his almost clawed grip on Peter’s hand, and so he leans back. Again Aro leans in for a taste.

“Hmm. Less good than when you were human,” he remarks, and looks almost sad.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

Peter feels off, just a little, but maybe that’s just the blood loss. He looks into Lucian’s pale eyes, pushes his hair back.

“Are you okay? Has it worked?”

Lucian frowns.

“I feel… I’m not sure.”

Peter, of course, when he had been bitten, had been unconscious or dead or something between the two for several hours when he was turned. He wonders whether the same will be true for Lucian. It feels, oddly, like there is a tiny hand clawing at the inside of his oesophagus. Like he’s about to be sick. Which isn’t great timing. He takes Lucian’s hand in his, fingers curling around each other, and spasms, like heaving. He curses under his breath.

“Go,” Aro insists, “I’ll look after him, I promise.”

Peter hesitates, but he can feel how close he is to throwing up, and blood is a bitch to get out of the furniture, so he leans in to kiss Lucian’s forehead, which is clammier than he would like, and then hurries to the bathroom. 

He doesn’t quite make it to the toilet before he starts throwing up, and he is not prepared for the look of it, blood splattered everywhere, like a crime scene. He sinks to his knees, clinging to the toilet bowl and trying to ignore the slight sour urine stench. It is, for better or worse, rapidly replaced by a mixture of blood and stomach acid, neither of which are particularly pleasant either. Fuck.

It’s nearly twenty minutes before he’s certain there is absolutely nothing left in his stomach. The bathroom looks like something out of a horror film, blood everywhere. He grabs a black towel and wipes at the worst of it, tossing it into the laundry. At least all of them mostly wear only shades of black, so it’s not as if stains are the worst risk. He rinses his mouth out with water, and notes with satisfaction that his teeth have gone back to normal, and his eyes haven’t turned red or anything. He may not like the yellow, but at least it’s less evil looking than red, and not the creepy fully black eyes of Jerry. Which is good, which is reassuring. He takes a deep and unnecessary breath, and goes to check on Lucian.

He finds the two of them in the bedroom, where Lucian is laying on the bed, seemingly unconscious.

“Is he all right?” he asks, anxiety rising, pricking at his skin in that terribly familiar way.

“I think so,” Aro says, and he doesn’t sound sure, and that is absolutely terrifying. 

Peter sits down on the bed, places a hand on Lucian’s forehead. He feels feverish. Do lycans even get fevers? Or is he imagining it because he himself is so cold, and Lucian warmer than a normal human? He can’t tell, but Lucian seems sweatier than usual. He turns, seemingly without waking up, curling in on himself and making a high, pained whimpering noise.

“Is he sleeping? Unconscious? Is he going to be okay?” Peter asks Aro, whose eyes have gone a bit reddish, even from the minuscule amount of semi human blood he’s tasted.

“I think he’s going to be okay. We don’t know, do we, how you were while you were turning? How long was it?”

Peter shrugs.

“Five, six hours maybe?”

“Then he’ll probably be fine after that,” Aro tells him, as calming as he can, and Peter hopes he’s right.


	64. 2015: Uncertainty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aro and Peter monitor Lucian's condition

Five or six hours pass, and Lucian is not fine. He is still breathing, and his heart still beats, which is a relief, but he is still in that odd stage somewhere between waking and sleeping. He tosses and turns, sweating at one moment, shivering and curling in on himself the next. Peter and Aro both stay with him, bringing in two of the chairs, so they can give him some space.

The sun has risen now, and Peter is getting tired, anxiety and guilt wearing on him. This doesn't feel right, but then, who is he to judge? Aro says that transformation of his species is slow and terribly painful, dragging out for days on end. Who is to say this isn't what Peter went through, nearly two months ago now? He shudders, glad he has no memory of it. Hopes that means Lucian won't remember feeling terrible, now.

"You should try to get some sleep," Aro suggests, because he is very much a telepath.

Or because Peter yawned. It's definitely one of those two.

"Don't know if I can," he admits, leaning forward to stroke Lucian's side.

His skin feels cool to the touch, slick with cold sweat. The lycan shivers, and Peter gets up and tugs the blanket over him.

"You ought to try anyway. I will wake you if anything changes, I promise."

Peter yawns again.

"Fine."

He wanders into the bathroom, and brushes his teeth, avoiding his eyes in the mirror. He probably doesn't need to brush his teeth, strictly speaking, not to avoid cavities or anything, but it's a ritual, and it makes him feel more human. Just like he keeps drinking water, even if it doesn't satisfy, and coffee, although the caffeine no longer has any noticeable effect. It may be all pretence, but he finds it comforting. If he can't be human, then he can at least pretend, just for a short while. Also, it makes what breath he has better.

When he pads back into the bedroom, undressed down to the most worn and comfortable t-shirt he owns and a pair of boxers, something is changing. Lucian, specifically, is changing. Soft pale skin turns rough and grey, bodyhair growing black and dense and long, spreading into fur. Lucian bares his fangs as his jaw pushes out into a muzzle, whining as his bones stretch and shift and grow. His nails dig into the fabric of the bed, growing into long claws and shredding the sheets. Well. It was time to change those out anyway.

It is strange seeing him transform like this, seemingly without control or awareness. It feels more like the horror movie scene it was the first time Peter saw it. Lucian and Aro have reassured him that the process isn't actually painful so much as uncomfortable, but seeing Lucian twist and flinch it is hard to fully believe.

"What's happening?" 

Aro shrugs.

"I am not sure. Perhaps his wolf form is more resilient, better suited to-" he cuts himself off before finishing the thought, but Peter can see where he is going. 

"Fighting off the infection?"

It feels slightly nauseating, referring to it that way, to his current nature that way, but that does appear to be what is happening.

"Something like that, yes."

"Fuck."

He sits down on the bed, stroking Lucian's growing head and trying to block out the noise the changing bones make. He is terribly glad his own transformation is instantaneous, not this drawn out molding and reshaping of tissue. Lucian's clothes rip, falling to the side in shreds as his body grows.

"What do you think it means?" 

"I don't know."

Peter settles on the bed, and Lucian almost immediately moves towards him, resting his massive head on Peter's belly. If he were still human it would be uncomfortable, make it harder to breathe. At least there are some perks to being a walking corpse.

Lucian curls a clawed hand around Peter's thigh, and shivers again. Peter tries to pet him, to use his hands to rub some warmth into him, but when his own body stubbornly remains at room temperature it doesn't do much.

"I didn't think lycans could get sick."

"Not in the normal sense, no. They get hurt, of course, but their healing, their immune systems are incredibly efficient. I remember his shock at learning how many human children die from disease, because nothing like that had ever happened to any of the lycan pups. He was quite upset on your behalf. Or, your former. Well. You understand."

"So it's my fault?"

"Only in the sense that I suspect it is because you are a supernatural creature. We do not know if this has ever happened before."

"He told me, once that the vampires he's sort of related to, that they get sick from lycan blood, so I didn't think... I didn't realise it was a bad sign. He said he injected himself with compatible blood, but I guess that was from a newly bitten lycan."

"Yes," agrees Aro, "and he was shot with liquid silver and nearly died only hours later, so it possible that he was somewhat distracted from whatever adverse affect it might have had on him."

Peter wraps his arms around Lucian's oversized neck, burying his fingers deep in the thick fur there. Aro sits down on the side of the bed, softly stroking Lucian's side and back, perfect nails making sharp little scraping noises.

"I feel so... so bad, so helpless, knowing all the terrible stuff that has happened to him, knowing I can't do anything about it, can't make it better."

"You can," Aro argues, "you make him feel better every day. By being there, by loving him, by being yourself. Of course, you make him worry too, but you cannot change events that occurred centuries before your birth."

"I was in my late twenties in 2003."

"You were. And in a war between vampires and lycans you would have been nothing but a casualty, with no hope of ever being the source of comfort and joy to him that you currently are."

"I guess."

Part of Peter wants to ask Aro whether he ever feels guilty about not helping, not being there, however much he didn't know what was going on, but he doesn't, for once, think that that is going to help.

"I'm scared for him."

"So am I, my love," Aro admits, and that makes it so much worse.

Aro is supposed to say that it's going to be fine, that Lucian is going to be fine. He is supposed to be so above everything that he doesn't worry, that he just innately knows everything will eventually work out in his favour. But now Peter's stomach feels like a black hole, absorbing everything that isn't flavours of fear. He feels the dread rise in him, threatening to overflow.

"You know," Aro says after a little while, "this is much like we feel when you talk of taking your own life."

"Shut up."

"It is," he insists.

"Guilt tripping me isn't typically a way to make me feel less shit about myself."

Lucian groans, and moves away from Peter again, spreading out to cover as much of the bed as he can, displacing Aro in the process. When Peter touches his hand to his forehead it feels scorching.

"Fuck," he mutters, panic welling up.

"It's going to be all right," Aro promises, directly contradicting his earlier statement. 

"You don't know that."

"I don't. But he is strong, and he is fighting. And whether or not he ends up like us, I think he is strong enough to pull through, in whatever direction he winds up."

-

Peter doesn't remember falling asleep, but he must have, because when he opens his eyes again, the sky outside has gone dark. Lucian is human once again, curled up tight under a blanket with large rips in the shape of claws. Aro isn't here, but Peter can hear him moving somewhere in the flat. He turns onto his side, moving close to Lucian and wrapping himself around him, thinking that if not heat he can at least provide comfort. Lucian makes a soft noise in response, but doesn't move other than to lean into the touch. He is still not awake.

The sound of footsteps approaches, and Peter can smell blood. Aro sets the mug down on the night stand.

"You should drink something."

"Good evening to you too."

Lucian groans and shifts. His hair, and the sheets beneath him are soaked in sweat, cold and clammy and unpleasant now. Even with the air conditioning running, the door open, the room has the thick smell of sickness. Shed fur sticks to Lucian's and Peter's skin.

"Has anything happened?" Peter asks, sitting up enough to grab the mug.

He drinks the blood quickly, and it does taste far more right, more like food, than Lucian's had. Which feels somehow reassuring.

"Not a lot. He has changed back and forth a few times. I don't know if it means anything much. His physiology settling, perhaps, but there is no other change that I can detect. His heart still beats. His scent remains solidly lycan."

"Is that good, do you think?"

"I suppose that depends on whether you want him to get what he wants or not."

Peter flinches, actually physically flinches, violently enough that some of the blood spills from the cup, running down the white ceramic in gruesome rivulets.

"I don't-"

"It's okay, Peter. I know you didn't want this. It is okay to be relieved."

"It's not selfish?"

"It is. But that is okay."

Peter drains the cup, and sets it back down, the shifts down to curls around Lucian again, draping an arm around his side. He isn't relieved. He is a little relieved. 

"Do you think he will recover? Do you think he will turn?"

"Yes and maybe. We don't know a lot about your kind, not yet. Perhaps the process is more complex and difficult for lycans. Or else he may fight off the infection entirely, and remain fully lycan. I don't know. He might become a hybrid and yet retain his vital signs. There is no way to know what such a combination might look like."

"Yeah," Peter agrees.

If Lucian wakes up, if he recovers and is still entirely himself, fully alive, that would be ideal. At least, for Peter it would. He gets his living beautifully unvampiric lycan without the guilt of having denied him the chance to become a vampire. It feels like it would be cheating, somehow. He feels shitty for wanting Lucian not to change, but he still doesn't think that vampirism, or part vampirism or whatever, would solve any problems. Not for Lucian, either. It makes him remember worried friends and family, telling him he might regret transitioning, asking him if he was sure he wasn't just a butch lesbian, that he didn't just want to wear his hair short and baggy clothes, despite his not showing any particular inclination to either behaviour, and the similarity makes him feel sick. Not that it's the same, of course. Not that hrt made him a bloodsucking creature of the night, but there is an upsetting parallel in reaction. And is Lucian having a heartbeat and not drinking blood that important to him? No. 

Lucian moans in his sleep and stirs. He turns around, pressing his face into Peter's chest.

"I love you," Peter whispers to him, "please get well."

Lucian doesn't respond. But Peter can hear his heart beating steadily, can feel his warmth against him. They are qualities he will miss, but they are not essential to his love. If Lucian turns, then that is something Peter will deal with, because his problems are his own issues, not Lucian's. 

The bed dips beneath them as Aro sits down. He places a warm hand on Peter's shoulder, and for a moment he worries that Aro is about to read his mind. The idea still fills him with worry, even now. Not the worry that Aro will do so without his permission, but that what he sees in there will make him judge him as harshly as Peter does himself. But no. It is just a comforting touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that section towards the end doesn't come off as insensitive. I'm not... I'm having thoughts about my own gender identity, and about the comfort and safety inherent in monsters, and I. Don't know. It seemed an odd parallel not to mention. But please let me know if it feels awful, I'll cut it.  
> Also please forgive any bad wording, I am writing this on my phone, in the dark, without my glasses at 5:30 in the morning. Because I'm an idiot who can't sleep.


	65. 2015: Restoration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucian awakens

Lucian blinks. Sniffs the air. Not ideal.

He can see his muzzle in the centre of his field of vision, which would seem to indicate he is wolf shaped. He does not remember becoming wolf shaped, and he is fairly certain that he was more humanoid when Peter bit him. 

Peter bit him.

He can hear his own heart beating, and he is still breathing. But that doesn’t necessarily mean much, does it? It could mean he simply retains many vital signs. This will require further testing. He beings by working out how he feels. His first impression? Terrible. There is a pervasive stench of stale sweat in the room, which he can blame on no one but himself. His muscles all ache, but with disuse rather than overuse. At least, that is what he thinks it is. He is not terribly familiar with the concept. 

The room is cold, the air condition set to high, possibly to help with the smell. Looking around reveals several deep gouges into the mattress, which are suspiciously shaped like Lucian’s claws. He is alone, currently, but he can hear Peter and Aro talking in low voices. It’s about him. He tunes it out.

His throat feels dry, and he is both quite nauseous and hungry, like the wolf he is. It’s unpleasant. Is this what feeling sick is like? Lycans don’t, typically, get sick, and so it is not something he has experienced before, not first hand. He did spend a week, a little over a year ago, taking care of Peter after he got the flu, and wasn’t able to do anything other than lay in bed and be miserable for days on end. He does not envy humans if they have to go through this on a regular basis.

Lucian shifts, and groans with the pain of it, and hears sudden silence, followed by rapidly approaching footsteps. He looks to the door, and Peter bursts through, rushing to crouch down next to the bed, taking Lucian’s head in his hands with a look of utter relief and joy on his face. Lucian wonders how long he has been out.

“You’re awake! Oh thank fuck. Are you okay? Shit, I love you so much, Lucian, so fucking much, and I’m so sorry.”

He presses kisses to Lucian’s muzzle, to his cheeks and the sloped bony expanse of his forehead, burying his fingers in the fur either side of Lucian’s head. It does feel good. Aro enters, and kneels next to Peter, taking Lucian’s hand in his own, and pressing a kiss to the back of it. He murmurs something in the ancient Mycenaean Greek, the language form that only Aro and a handful of other vampires still speak. He has taught Lucian some, enough to recognise this phrase. This soft prayer of love and gratitude.

“Are you feeling well enough, my sweet wolf, to change back? To tell us how you are feeling?” 

Lucian considers, while Peter continues to pet through his fur, to whisper again how much he loves Lucian, and how sorry he is. Lucian isn’t sure what he is apologising for. He holds up a finger, a gesture to signify one moment, and Peter laughs in delight. It seems to amuse him to no end when Lucian, while wolf shaped, does anything particularly unsettlingly human, as he puts it. He had, inspired by this, wondered whether Lucian could learn to do sign language in this shape, but Lucian is reasonably certain he doesn’t have the dexterity for it. 

He takes a few moments, and a few deep breaths, and starts to shift. It is, in a sense, a good thing that the transformation, once started, cannot be halted or reversed. Despite the energy it takes, he is literally unable to stop it until it is done. Or, well, as done as it gets. He is always left with fangs and pale, wide eyes for a little while. So when he is almost entirely human shaped again, he flops down onto the bed. The process has been more draining than usual, and he shivers. Peter leans across him to tug a blanket over him, leaning in to kiss his forehead and continue to look at him with big and worried eyes.

“Not great,” he breathes out, his eyes falling closed again.

“You seem to remain… living,” Aro observes, and his voice is very carefully neutral.

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Lucian mutters.

His head hurts. He doesn’t enjoy it. If anything, it seems he is feeling more human than anything. Apparently humanity is not as enviable as Peter seems to think.

“Do you think you can move?” Peter asks.

“Don’t know,” Lucian replies.

He can, as it turns out, because fifteen minutes later Peter is helping him ease himself into a warm bath. There is something sweet smelling in there, and for once Lucian doesn’t particularly mind. Peter washes his hair for him, using a long sequence of even more strongly scented viscous liquids which he insists have distinct uses. But Peter’s fingers massaging his scalp is nice, and so is relaxing in the water, letting it slowly warm him. 

When Peter leaves, to see if the clawed up bed can be salvaged, Lucian sinks below the surface of the water. He wants to see how long he can hold his breath, if he needs it at all any more. Because his face has softened into being fully human, and his teeth are as blunt as they were, his eyes as much an ever shifting grey-blue-green-hazel. A minute. A minute and a half. And no, that’s it, his lungs screaming for air, and he resurfaces, inhaling greedily. 

It seems, he has to admit, that he remains fully and exclusively a lycan. He will have to see how he reacts to blood, and the sun, but it does seem as though it was for nothing. As though he won’t see the end of his centuries long quest. He is disappointed, of course, it is hard not to be, but for now it is a distant emotion. He knows that he is disappointed, but the actual feeling of it seems a way off yet. For now he is simply very, very tired. Which is quite impressive, as according to Peter he has been sleeping for three and a half days.

Lucian drains the bath and gets out, towelling himself off and wrapping himself in one of Peter’s robes, wondering, as he always does, whether he cannot afford more than what appears to be exactly two square feet of fabric. His hair hangs down, dripping down his back, making him shiver. 

In the kitchen Aro is heating up blood. He watches Lucian with worry too, though he hides it far better than Peter.

“How do you feel?”

Lucian winces as he sits down, leaning heavily on the counter.

“Slightly less bad. I didn’t- I’ve never been… Anything like this. I do not like it.”

Aro wraps arms around him, kisses the new scar on his neck. The skin there throbs, hot and aching, failing to act like any wound Lucian has experienced before. Aro, he notes, does not feel warm, as Peter says he does to him now. It is a discouraging sign.

“I know, my love. Would you like blood, or water, or regular… food?”

“Don’t know,” Lucian sighs, leaning into the vampire’s comforting touch.

“More towards all or none?”

“All.”

Aro leaves, and Lucian misses his touch immediately, though when a mug of hot blood is placed before him he feels a little less deprived. It doesn’t taste any different than it used to, it doesn’t fill any newly developed need. 

“Managed to sort of fix the bed,” Peter announces as he comes into the kitchen.

“I am sorry, my love,” Lucian tells him.

“Don’t be. An excuse to buy a new and bigger one, anyway. Would be nice to have one that comfortably fits all three of us when you’re all big and wolfy. Love you both, but it gets a little cramped sometimes.”

He drapes himself around Lucian, wrapping his arms around his neck. Lucian makes an enormous effort to lift his head and press his cheek to Peter’s, and receives a kiss in reward.

“Want me to make you some food? See how you do with it? Don’t think In trust Aro’s culinary skills with anything but blood, to be honest.”

“Please,” Lucian manages.

Though he could, theoretically, subsist entirely of blood, it doesn’t satisfy entirely. He is a carnivore, after all, meant to hunt prey. Even if these days he doesn’t hunt most of it himself. Growing up he was fed cold, raw meat, and though that too was fine, he has learned to appreciate humans’ ability and interest in actually making food taste good. Especially when it isn’t a fresh kill. Nothing tastes quite like that, but in this modern world that isn’t practical for every meal.

The kitchen fills with delightful scents as Peter cooks, and Lucian remains, hunched over, mostly motionless, and occasionally reassuring his undead loves that he is sort of fine. When Peter puts his plate down in front of him, he practically inhales it, forgetting to worry about whether it will make him sick. It doesn’t, in the end. Another sign. Another confirmation that it’s not worked, he has just spent three miserable painful days for nothing, although at least he hasn’t been conscious for all of it.

An hour and a half is all the time he manages to spend up, before leaning on Peter on his way back to the bedroom. He curls up between Aro and Peter, who both wrap themselves around him, and though they do not feel warm to him, they do still manage to reflect his own back to him, and in the end the effect is similar, if not quite there. He feels safe, there, surrounded by love. Safe, and loved, and devastated by the failure of his experiment, but that feeling can wait. He is too tired for it now, and too close to sleep. He can only hope that he will be allowed rest without having to have his guilt and disappointment infinitely magnified by having to watch Sonja die again.


	66. 2015: Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucian comes to terms with the failure of his quest, and Aro has _feelings_ and he's not a fan of the concept.

Lucian wakes up, slowly and gradually to a familiar rhythmic noise. He's laying on the sofa, under a thin blanket despite the warmth of the room, and on the other end of the enormous u-shaped monstrosity of grey squares, he can see Peter in Aro's lap, and, by the looks of it, Aro in Peter's, well. Aro in Peter, to put it somewhat tastefully. 

He is feeling better these days, mostly better, but the fatigue still lingers, and he keeps dozing off if he isn't paying attention, waking up covered in a blanket, and with a cushion or lap under his head which wasn't there when he fell asleep. The fever is gone, and he has stopped randomly transforming in his sleep, though he has ruined several t-shirts Peter loaned him by suddenly growing much larger. There are still aches, still pain, especially at the site of the bite, which remains red and swollen, though a clean scar, slightly painful to the touch. 

He watches his two lovers wrapped up in each other, Aro's hands on Peter's hips, Peter's back arching, his fingers buried in Aro's dark hair. Peter breathes while he fucks, a habit it must be difficult to let go of. Lucian wouldn't know. He tries he really tries not to feel sorry for himself, not to feel too upset that it's not worked. Doesn't want Peter to feel guilty. Last thing he needs is another reason to feel bad.

"You want in?"

It's Peter, who is looking at him, now, hair messy, lips red, the marks of Aro's nails slowly fading along his chest. Lucian smiles, but shakes his head.

"Happy to just watch you. I don't feel... I'm still tired. But you two, my loves, are an absolute delight, as always."

"If you're sure," Aro says.

Lucian can hear well concealed worry on his voice. But he nods trying to look encouraging. He doesn't have it in him, currently, to do anything quite so vigorous, and he does so enjoy seeing Peter and Aro together. A sign they are getting closer, have something more in common than the fact of vampirism and Lucian himself. He doesn't know, necessarily, that they would ever have gotten along, let alone together, without him, but it is nice to see that he isn't entirely integral.

Peter's face as he comes is a delight. Head thrown back, hands clenching around Aro's shoulders hard enough that were he human skin might get broken. His hair, still that awkward inbetween length, messy and hanging down in his face, sticky not with sweat but whatever products he uses to ensure he looks fashionably disheveled at all times. Aro follows not long after, body going rigid for a moment, holding Peter tight as the younger vampire rests his forehead against his shoulder. Lucian feels his own cock twitch with interest, but it's a little late now, and he doesn't feel up to reciprocating any acts performed on him, and guilty at even the thought of not doing so, however much he knows it not to be a demand or expectation.

A few minutes later, after his eyes have slipped closed, he feels his head being lifted up, Peter shifting him until Lucian's head rests in his lap. He feels like he's wearing more clothes, now, but the scent of his sex, of Aro on him, is still intense. Lucian feels fingers petting through his hair, the faint chemical smell of nail polish ever present.

"How are you feeling?"

"Not quite as good as you, I suspect. But better. Better every day."

"'M sorry."

"I know. It is not your fault. It was my being too optimistic. I'm sorry I forced you into it. Or persuaded, anyway."

His hand is lifted, and a soft kiss is pressed to the centre of his palm.

"I agreed," Peter tells him patiently.

It is not the first time they have had variants on this conversation. It always ends the same, yet they keep feeling the need to reiterate. Aro has made plain how ridiculous he thinks they are, but he is more settled in his emotions, in his thoughts and morals. Anyone would be after that many millennia. Now he is in the kitchen, Lucian thinks, because he can smell blood being heated. Food, too. He has gotten far more caring, over the last year. Perhaps out of necessity. Previously his caring was largely in the form of providing things, of ordering servants to do whatever Lucian wished, of gifting him things, but these days there are more small kindnesses, signs that he pays attention to their needs. It is progress.

"Are you relieved?"

Peter tenses his hands stilling.

"Yes," he admits, reluctantly.

"It's okay," Lucian tells him.

His eyes are still closed, so he won't see Peter's expression. A calculated move. But he does also feel close to slipping back into oblivion.

"It's not," Peter argues, "and I'm sorry about that too. I don't want to- to keep you from doing what you want to- to whatever. Be. Do. But I'm scared of the idea that this too will change, that suddenly everything in my life will be just vampires. I might get used to it. Would have got used to it, eventually, but I can't help but be glad, yeah. That you're alive still. That you're the same. And that's a bit shitty of me. If it's any help, though, I do feel quite bad about it."

Lucian takes a deep breath.

"I don't want or need you to feel bad, Peter. I hope you know that."

"Yeah, I... yeah. Sorry. Just. Yeah."

Lucian shifts onto his side, partially dislodging the blanket, and moves so his face is pressed into the soft worn thin material of Peter's t-shirt. It's one of the ones for his show, an old model. Peter's hands resume petting through his hair. It feels nice.

"It really is okay, Peter, I do understand why you wouldn't want it."

"But are you upset about it?"

Lucian hesitates.

"Yes. A little."

"Oh."

He is perhaps not used to it, to Lucian not immediately saying that everything is okay. But it may be time Lucian lets himself feel disappointed in something. Permits himself to be upset, even if he completely understands and forgives (how could he not?).

"I get that," Peter tells him fingers absently wrapping a few strands of Lucian's hair around each other, "you have every right to. I certainly would be, in your place. And it's. I'm glad you're letting me know, not just, y'know, repressing or whatever. Or thinking I'm too fragile to take that. Because I know I'm maybe not the most emotionally mature or have a particularly robust mental health or whatever, but I think it's good, you know. Communication and whatnot."

"I do," agrees Lucian. 

-

Aro busies himself getting some food and blood ready for the three of them, doing so deliberately noisily so as to not overhear their conversation. They deserve some privacy, he thinks. Or at least the convincing illusion of it. Although he can hear everything within what he privately feels is too wide a radius, he can equally tune it out, if he has something to keep his mind occupied. So he thinks about the three of them, together. About how much this relationship has changed him, made him into something almost unrecognizable to himself. Someone who helps, unasked, who abstains from human blood as a deference to another's wishes, a human's wishes, of all things, for a long time. It's perverse.

He brings the cups of blood and the bowl of some sort of meat soup situation Peter had made the day before which he has reheated out into the living room. He is not trusted with food preparation, for the simple and unfair reason that it has been 3275 years since last he prepared food. It's nonsense, of course. He remembers. Only, it was largely based around open fires at the time, and significantly less complicated. 

Bringing someone food, though, or blood? Preparing it? Until last year, these are things he never would have done. These are tasks for servants, but apparently outside the Volturi people don't really have those anymore. Although Peter have several people he pays to do things he doesn't want to, but apparently that's different. Aro isn't sure how, other than that here it is likely less acceptable to kill and eat your servant if they misbehave, or you're in a foul mood.

The worst thing, the thing that makes him feel as if he is losing his mind, though, is how much he isn't bothered by it. He finds he has no issue doing boring, pointless domestic tasks if it is for Lucian or Peter. He will tidy things, he will prepare food, to whatever extent he is permitted, at any rate, he will have opinions on what sort of bed Peter is trying to order and sympathetically agree that that is indeed expensive. He will even, he finds, settle for having less power, as long as he has the two of them. And it terrifies him how used he is getting to that idea. How comfortable the thought of simply existing, the three of them together, makes him.

"Are you well, sweet wolf?" He asks, but it appears Lucian has drifted off again.

"Was he?" He asks again, this time of Peter.

"Seems to be," Peter says, gratefully accepting the cup of blood, "but still not quite himself. Getting there, though."

"That is good. And you?"

Peter shrugs, careful not to dislodge Lucian. He looks uncomfortable. 

"Don't know. All this.... this everything, Lucian being ill, it's taking my mind of wanting to off myself. Which makes me feel guilty. And being grateful for the unintended consequences of Lucian being ill makes me feel like shit."

Aro nods, as if this is a reasonable train of guilt.

"I think in time your mind will calm down, my dear. Give it a few centuries, and you will mellow out."

Peter grimaces.

"A few decades, then. You can always stop being alive later. It's not an opportunity that goes away. Unless, of course, you are like me."

"Oh."

His face falls.

"Never really thought about that."

"No. Easier for you, I think. Or it would be, if Lucian and I weren't there to stop you. And we would, you know."

"I know," Peter sighs.

"You know," he continues, "I've been wondering. If I... were still alive, still human, would you have bitten me? Against my will, I mean?"

"I sense," replies Aro, "that you would like me to say no. But I can't. If you- if you got too close to death, whether by age or injury, and and you and Lucian both refused to do anything about it, if I continued to feel about you as I do now? Then I would, yes."

"That's not great," Peter mutters.

"It's not," agrees Aro, "but you always knew what I was. And you know how I have changed. I hope you know, at any rate. It has been... bothering me. Or rather, the fact that it doesn't so much any more bothers me."

Peter nods. 

"I do see. It took time, though. To understand that you were. Because the starting point, to me, it was..."

"Monstrous?"

Peter looks down.

"Yeah."

"But you changed your mind."

"You know I have. You know I- I love you."

He has braided several little braids in Lucian's hair, now, a nervous habit, perhaps. It looks a bit ridiculous. It is very sweet.

"And I you."

"But speaking of, y'know, changing. Being better. I'm going to try to learn Romanian. And Italian. I mean, they're pretty similar and I did some latin in school, so it can't be that hard."

"Oh? Tired of us speaking behind your back?"

Peter makes a face at him.

"Fuck off. Trying to be nice and make a gesture."

"I know, my love, I appreciate it. And I am sure you will do wonderfully."

"Yeah? Hope so. I was, err... was thinking maybe..."

"Yes?" Aro encourages.

Peter ducks his head. Looks as if he would blush if he had the blood flow for it. It's very sweet.

"Thought you could maybe show me Rome. And, you know, Volterra and stuff. Other bits. Athens, maybe. I've been to both, technically, but it's more than a decade ago and I was drunk out of my mind the whole time. And, you know, Lucian Romania and stuff. And the Dracula castles. Is that too tacky, going to the Dracula castles as a vampire? Not sure I care."

"It is, I believe, incredibly tacky, as I understand the term. But I think you will enjoy it, and neither me nor Lucian have been, I think. Not in what you would call modern times, at any rate. And I would love for you to see Rome properly. It is not the same, of course, as it was. I wish I could show it to you in Augustan times, or the early empire. It was magnificent. But it is still a good city. And the same with Athens."

"Mm. I'll look forward to it. Maybe have a threesome on top of the Colosseum. Let you two relive some memories."

"A splendid idea," Aro agrees. 

He moves from where he sits, settling next to Peter, leaning in to kiss him. Stroking a hand over Lucian's cheek and feeling the wolf lean into it. He feels happy, enough so that he manages to push down the conflict he feels about it for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is nearing a close, I think. Might add later vignettes, but I have an end in mind. Started a new Aro/Peter thing earlier today. Or tonight. I have been awake for 17 hours on three hours of sleep now and time has lost all meaning. Anyway I think I have accomplished what I set out to do.


	67. 2018: Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is left deserted in the desert and is having just a real sad time

In 2018, Lucian and Aro leave Peter. Not in a breaking up sense, but in a leaving him deserted in the desert while they fuck off to Europe for what ends up being nearly two months. It's part, Peter knows, of the process of retaking control of what remains of the Volturi. Fighting has died down these last few years, and Aro, despite his claims of enjoying his domestication, feels he needs to take control again. Lucian travels with him, partly to help, but also because he thinks it is time to see if any lycans are still alive. Peter supports it, really, supports his boyfriends having lives or undeaths outside of the relationship, but fuck, he misses them.

He still does his show, and it still does well. No one has discovered his secret, no one suspects a thing. Probably. His heart is, perhaps, not as in it as it was when he started the show nearly a decade ago, but this is Vegas. No one expects earnest performances.

Peter pours himself a drink and finds his ipad, locating Lucian and pressing the call button on skype. It rings for a few moments, and then the lycan comes into view. He's sitting, it appears, at a café, in the shade but with a sunny, bright piazza, clutching a gelato in one hand, which is just patently unfair.

"Hey babe. You coming back soon?"

"Soon, my love, I promise. We are wrapping up here, for now. Aro is working on getting a system in place, someone he can deputise while he comes back here."

"Miss you," Peter tells him, making a sad face in the hopes of coaxing his favourite lycan home early.

It won't work but he feels the need to anyway.

"And we you, Peter."

"'S unfair. You two've got each other, I'm here all alone. Suffering."

Lucian makes a mock sympathetic face.

"It's very hard, I'm sure, in your luxury penthouse, working all of four hours a night, surrounded by adoring fans."

"It is!" Peter insists, "because I've got zero supernaturally hot boyfriends in my bed at night! You've got each other. I'm sad and lonely and horny."

"We do," Lucian allows, with a smile, "but you did watch the two us, ah, together over skype last night."

"I- yeah, all right. That was pretty good. Still, though. It's been seven weeks since I saw you. I'm pretty sure this is defined as a form of torture. Solitary confinement. I'm telling Geneva."

"We'll be back as soon as we can, my dear, I promise."

"Yeah yeah. Any luck digging up traces of your pack mates yet?"

Lucian's hair is tied back into a ponytail entirely, rather than just back to keep it out of his face, and it's a good look for him. And it is nice to see him in the sun. It's too rare these days. They've figured out ways, together, to dress up in enough thick dark layers and hoods for Peter to be safe, and Aro hidden. To go places where he and Peter can be in the shade, but still be out in daytime. A lot of parasols are involved. It takes a lot of getting ready, to make sure it's safe, so it doesn't happen so often.

"Some," Lucian is saying, "but they worry. They are scared of more attacks. A little scared of- well. Of me."

"Of you?"

"After 2003 I don't blame them. It was my obsession that lead to this, it is my fault. But perhaps, in time, they will trust me. Come back. Lycans belong in a pack, after all."

"I'm sure they will, Lucian. Longer time spans, is all. They owe you their trust, they just need time."

"They do not owe me anything, but I do hope you are right."

"Mm. Yeah. They will. Or I'll tell them off."

“Peter.”

“I will! I’ll make them love you like you deserve.”

“I- well. I appreciate the sentiment.”

They sit for a few moments, watching each other through the screen. Lucian is beautiful, even pixelated, and fuck, Peter misses him so much. Misses Aro too. 

“Tell the bloodsucker I love him, yeah?”

“He knows. And I will.”

“Well, he better, fucking mind reader.”

Lucian laughs, and his smile is so lovely it hurts Peter’s heart, hurts almost as much as the fact he can’t kiss it for ages yet.

“But I’ll see you later, yeah? You’ll call? Both of you?”

“We will. And we will return as soon as we are able. Love you.”

“You too.”

Peter lets Lucian hang up, and then swipes to his home screen, which sickeningly sentimentally is a photo of Aro and Lucian. It’s the two of them, leaning against a rock face, too busy looking at each other to notice Peter aiming the camera at them before the flash goes off. He strokes a finger across their faces, and accidentally opens twitter. Oh. Well.

“My boyfriends are on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean without me,” he tweets, “and that’s pretty homophobic of them.”

Within about thirty seconds he realises that many of his followers do not understand his sense of humour. He closes the tablet. Goes out to the kitchen, mixes some blood into his booze. For the nutritional value. 

Over the last few years he has gotten used to the blood. It’s normal to him, now. A bit dull, a bit like living exclusively of protein shakes, but a new normal. Fewer decisions to make, although he still misses texture. He’s gotten used to his vampirism, too. Doesn’t like it still, hasn’t stopped wishing there was a cure, but he is settled into it, now. Come to terms with the fact that this is what his life is like now. And, for that matter, forever. Like Aro keeps saying, his life hasn’t, in the end, changed all that much. He also, now, has Aro. Has Lucian’s multitudes of tales of the virtues of Sonja (which he doesn’t mind. She has been dead for centuries, she’s not competition. And she sounds like she was pretty badass. Peter wonders whether they would have gotten on.) as well. Loads of examples of vampires who are decent people. Or, in Aro’s case, who will submit to being one for Peter’s sake. Mostly. Peter is fully expecting him to return with blood red eyes, and that’s… It’s not great, but it’s fair. Their deal was for him to stick to animal blood while he stayed at Peter’s. And he has stayed, for nearly four years now. Fuck, that’s wild.

Lucian got over his failure to become a vampire lycan hybrid fairly quickly, fortunately, although Peter isn’t sure he won’t try, if he manages to find the right strain of vampire. But he thinks maybe if he does do that, he will be fine with it. Probably. But he’s glad it’s not the case yet. But it was, sort of, something he and Peter could bond over. The inability to be what they want to be, whether that’s human or a lycan vampire hybrid.

It’s nearing dawn, the dark sky just starting to turn a lighter purple along the horizon. Peter opens a window, just a crack, just enough so that when he flexes whatever magical muscle allowing him to become very tiny and winged there is space for him to fly out of it. To get some of that dubiously fresh air, to flit over the city. Bat anatomy doesn’t really allow for soaring, that’s not really what he’s made for, but he can still swoop, to some degree. Swooping is good. 

He does enjoy the flying. Feeling the wind against his wings. He has been attacked by birds, which isn’t ideal, but turning human sized and shaped usually helps. Not this high up, though. And while he doesn’t know that a bird would be able to actually kill him for good, even when he’s this tiny, he doesn’t particularly want to test it out. His wounds healing quick doesn’t mean getting them in the first place doesn’t hurt like hell. 

Being a bat feels, oddly, a little bit more like being alive. More… Not vibrant, not exactly, but more physical. The sensations are different, and it might just be that it’s different than humanity, but there seems to be more. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s smaller, more vulnerable, and far less able to fight. That might be it. Or that from what he knows of bats he expects a rapid heart beat, and that it’s all some weird placebo. Whatever it is, he does enjoy it. Even if when he sees insect in this shape they are upsettingly fucking enormous. He saw a moth once that was nearly as big as him. He did not enjoy it.

Peter doesn’t want to sleep. He’s hoping, optimistically, that Aro and Lucian might call again, even if it’s just been a few hours since the last time. The black out curtains are keeping most of the sun out, but it’s still evident that it’s getting into late morning. It’s pathetic. Really pathetic, actually, being this miserable without them. But these last years, lovely as they have been, have by necessity also been isolating. There is this massive part of his life, of himself that he can’t ever tell anyone about, and that makes it pretty fucking hard to relate to people. He’s got his colleagues, of course, but they’ve noticed how much more withdrawn he’s gotten. How he no longer really wants to go out with them, get wasted. Always just wants to go back to Aro and Lucian. He isn’t sure he likes it. He may be happier now, but he does miss people.

He texts Aro a bunch, mostly strings of emojis for him to decode, to communicate, loudly and persistently that hey. Hey. HEY. Miss you. Lots of vampire, bat and wolf emojis. All the different heart ones. Throws in some fruit for flavour. They all go unread, which is unfair, but probably means he’s in meetings. What are vampire meetings like? Do they have like boardrooms? Tiny depressing cardboard cups of depressing tasting blood? Fluorescent lights? Or is there more of a secret cult meeting vibe? Meeting in a crypt, with fancy medieval goblets of blood, a human hanging from the ceiling with a tap stuck in their neck? Probably somewhere in between. Lucian texted him a photo of Aro reclining on a fancy gothic throne of some sort, all gold edges, marble details. A beautiful crystal glass of blood casually held between two fingers. Peter really quite wants to fuck him on that throne. In the meantime he has asked Lucian to, but he hasn’t had any update on the situation yet.

Right before noon, as Peter’s eyes are quite seriously starting to feel like sandpaper and his brain like the faintly electrified lump of fat that it is, Aro replies. It is with his own string of little pictures, which demonstrates an absolutely terrifying emoji literacy for a man who was born in the Bronze Age. It’s quite filthy, and followed by what Peter thinks is a wish of good sleep in Romanian. He’s been duolingoing it, but it’s a ridiculous language. Who needs four different versions of an a in the same word? No one except the fucking Romanians. His Italian is better, which is why none of them will text him in it any more. No challenge left, apparently. 

Later that week, he gets news that the Volturi are successfully under Aro’s competent leader ship again. Peter wonders if that means he’s a part of the Volturi now, too, or if it’s just for fancy venomous vampires. He isn’t sure he wants to be, although having their protection is no doubt very useful, even at their current reduced power. God, his life really has changed a lot.

Later still, he gets his boyfriends back. He doesn’t leave their sides at all, except for during his shows. And sometimes the two of them attend, and that is quite nice. Peter likes to think those shows are the best. When he’s got the right inspiration. Knows there are at least two people watching who care, who aren’t there to get drunk and pass an evening. Who love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all the blood in my head feels wrong


	68. 2020: Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's like 1349 all over again

Two years later, the world shuts down. This doesn’t really bother the three of them, of course, given that they are, after all, immune to human plagues. The three of them already spend a lot of time in the penthouse, so that isn’t much of a change, either, merely a sort of justification, a way for Peter to feel closer, if anything, to humanity again. He very briefly experiments with baking sour dough bread, but Lucian doesn’t like it, so he immediately gives it up as a lost cause. 

In the beginning, he firmly believes it will just blow over, despite Aro’s and Lucian’s graphic descriptions of the Black Death, Spanish Flu, and a variety of other past pandemics. He is, of course, deeply personally offended at the claim the virus originated in a bat. While the show is temporarily shut down, he does have bat themed merch face masks made, of which he sends a bunch to Charley and Amy (now proper settled adults, married, waiting on adopting a child, which is a fucking wild concept because Peter is pretty sure they should still be like 19 at the most), and, at their yelling at him, donates a bunch too. But they do have his name on them, so that’s kind of like advertising. It counts.

They go through all of Peter’s streaming services pretty quick, Peter deciding this is, at last, the time to force his boyfriends to watch all the dubious quality horror media he enjoys. The vampire centric stuff, though, hits different these days. It’s less fun seeing them get staked or burned in the sun, and so he finds himself appreciating the ones with some nuance more these days. He does make them watch through all of Buffy, and Lucian appreciates the at least somewhat positive portrayal of a werewolf. Neither of them approve of the Dracula episode, despite Peter’s correct opinion that it is the best episode of the show. Apparently it isn’t very historically correct.

It becomes, eventually, increasingly clear that this situation is not likely to blow over in a short while, at least not Peter’s definition of such, and the show keeps being closed, and so Peter makes the fairly rash decision to quit. To pack up his stuff, get rid of the penthouse, and send all his things to Aro’s Volturi headquarters. Similarly, Aro has a member of the Volturi fly them to Europe in a private plane, both to avoid the issues with travelling currently, and to avoid exposing humans. While they of course cannot be infected, Peter worries that the virus can still cling to them, spreading to humans. He does want to try to be responsible.

They go to Romania first. England is still locked down, Italy is doing pretty bad, but Castle Corvinus has stood empty for a while, and so it is a safe place to be for some time. Lucian has a good time, while Aro and Peter have slightly lower enthusiasm for mountain based hiking. It does feel like the right place, though, to be a creepy vampire who turns into a bat. He tries to befriend the colony that lives there, but they are a different species than him, and communication is difficult. Doesn’t seem right, really, the bats here not being vampire bats, but apparently it’s too far from South America for them to thrive. 

Some of Lucian’s former pack members show up after a few weeks, sensing that it is time to take the castle back. Luckily disrepair is easier to deal with than vampires. They are, of course, extremely sceptical of the presence of Aro and Peter. This is natural, but they are assured that the two of them will, eventually, leave. Peter does try very hard to make them like him, and Aro doesn’t at all. He simply finds these proceedings amusing, though he does support Lucian. Peter gets some points for his shape shifting skill, though the lycans are not too impressed with his bat based combat.

Aro and Peter travel on to Volterra, leaving Lucian behind to manage the restoration of the castle for a little while. While the vampires had kept it in fairly good shape, there were a lot of things that had not been update since the Renaissance at best. The beds, for example. There also isn’t much in the way of wifi, which Peter finds particularly challenging, because his phone network isn’t cutting it. 

Volterra is pretty good, he decides. The Volturi mansion is enormous, and ancient villa, made entirely of marble, and just as ostentatious and gothic and ridiculous as he had expected. It has been quite efficiently modernised, although carefully styled with drapery covering things like wires or electrical outlets, which is slightly annoying. Aro has a large apartment within the mansion, as well as a smaller, more discreet one in the city proper. 

Peter gets his wish, fucking Aro on his throne. It’s intensely uncomfortable, at least for him, and clearly not a particularly ergonomic chair, but the aesthetics of it, the concept? Flawless, sexy, perfect. 

Lucian joins them, after almost a month, which feels like several years, both due to it being 2020 and because Peter really doesn’t like being separated from either of them. It’s very different from Vegas, and very different from home too, but at least Peter learns Italian pretty good, pretty quick. 

The rest of the Volturi does not, particularly, like Peter. Mostly this just makes him spitefully be more himself, less refined, less like their idea of what a vampire ought to be. But he’s Aro’s boyfriend, and they can’t touch them, which greatly angers them, and delights Peter. He does know that he can’t actually physically best these vampires, and so there is not much vampire hunting to be done here. The other kinds all know that this is the Volturi’s territory, that no one else is permitted to feed or hunt here.

Lucian travels, quite often, back to Wallachia to check on his pack, despite Peter’s suggestion that video conferencing is a thing that exists, this year more than ever. Usually, Peter goes with him. He likes having someone else independent of the Volturi with him in Volterra, and besides, he enjoys the travel. It is odd, after so many years, to suddenly be the one who doesn’t have a life outside their relationship, now that he has nothing and Aro and Lucian both have their people. They don’t ignore him, of course, but they do have slightly less time for him than before. Which is probably healthy, but it does mean he needs a hobby. So, like many others, he starts a youtube channel. Mainly it’s videos of him exploring abandoned castles in their area of Europe. It’s surprisingly successful.

Despite his vampirism, despite the loss, however partially voluntary, of his home and his work, he is reasonably happy. He sticks to feeding on animal blood, but he does occasionally do so from live ones, having gotten more used to hunting with Lucian. He still hasn’t touched human blood, still refuses to. Aro does, these days, but Peter makes sure it’s without actually killing humans for it. It’s a compromise. It keeps his eyes the right menacing blood red. 

It takes them a while, but they settle, eventually, into their life. For Aro and Lucian it is at least somewhat familiar, and for Peter it is entirely strange. He has heard tales, of course, about their lives in times past, and it feels almost like home after a while. Like a place he can stay, and experience something like peace, perhaps not forever, but at least a few years. As long as he’s got the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upset I don't finish on chapter 69. Might make an art chapter just so I can get that. But this is the end, I think, for now.


End file.
